


What's Not In Between.

by trickpie (dinnafashnow)



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-30
Updated: 2008-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2689622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinnafashnow/pseuds/trickpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the rounds of promotion done for series three of the Mighty Boosh. Noel and Julian find the path again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's Not In Between, Part One.

**Author's Note:**

> Jokingly dubbed "the soul-sucking epic" or variations of. This took me almost three months to write and I never wrote for the Boosh again; I burnt out. 
> 
> Thanks to the upsidedown drunks & friends for being my own personal cheer squad, I adore you and without you those three months may have broken me. I also had an exceptional and tolerant beta--thank you, LB/planetbanjo.
> 
> Finally cross-posting to AO3 six years after writing because I've actually started witing fanfic again.

———————

 

Noel hates the in between times – in between filming, in between live shows, in between all those times that they’re inseparable. He used to not mind them at all. Having time to himself again was like a holiday at the beach after weeks in the mountains. Neither place was better or worse, just different. But lately it feels as though the in between times are getting longer. Sometimes they don’t get longer in time, just in space. They can be weeks, sometimes even only days apart, yet they can somehow feel like months. The chasm stretches wider each time.

See, it’s during the in between times that they drift apart. No, it’s not even a drift - it’s a severing of twin souls, a jump backwards to stranger times when phone calls were awkward and disjointed, when running into each other was an occasion for shuffling feet, tilted heads and timid smiles. It’s during the in between times that they stray further and further from the path. In the dark belly of the jungle, Julian finds babies and Noel finds parties.

 

———————

 

He knocks on the hotel door.

“Julian?”

He knocks again. It’s late, he knows it’s late, he knows that he’s had three drinks too many but they’re always free these days. He knows he’s had more than enough to drink but he’s sure that this is Julian’s hotel room. If it’s not, he’s going to end up in a fair amount of trouble if anyone answers the door. Even if it’s Julian, he may be in strife. Noel hasn’t found many people in the world who enjoy being woken up at some time past two in the morning, particularly not when they’re stuck somewhere as foreign and grim as a hotel. Not that this one isn’t nice, of course, but Glasgow isn’t home. Noel’s come looking for the closest thing he can find.

He presses his cheek against the cool wood, leaning into it, and tries to whisper through the door jamb. “I remembered your room number, you greasy git. Open the door. Don’t be asleep, you can’t be asleep.”

Noel stumbles forward, his balance taken from him as the door’s wrenched open quickly but not completely – just enough for a face to appear. Julian gazes through, his eyes looking even smaller than normal as he peers out into the dimly lit hallway. His hair, usually messy enough as it is, has taken on a shambolic appearance. He probably has been sleeping, then. But he’s awake now, so it’s fine. Noel grins and presses his hand against the door. Julian doesn’t raise issue with it. He gets out of the way of the door and is already heading back over to his stiff hotel bed as Noel follows him into the dark cave of the hotel room. Noel toes his boots off and drops onto the end of the bed, taking up a cross-legged position. Julian is already back in bed, tucked in under the blankets. Noel listens for his breaths, trying to judge if he’s fallen asleep again so quickly. He can’t tell properly in the dark.

“Julian?”

“What, Noel. What. What do you want from me.”

“It went well tonight, don’t you think?”

A bedside lamp clicks on and Julian sits up slowly, cumbersome, rubbing his eyes with one hand. His white t-shirt is sleep-rumpled, he looks tired. Noel feels like an alien, a time-travelling alien who has landed a few years from where he meant to land. Forward or backward? The walls are humming, Noel’s sure of it. There’s something in the walls. His time machine is stuck inside the walls. Julian says nothing in reply to his question, just looks at the red flashing light of the standard hotel alarm clock that sits at his side. 2:26. 2:26. 2:26. 2:26. 2:27.

“Don’t you think so?”

“I’m a bit tired, Noel.”

“I thought it was brilliant. You talked a lot. That was nice, you talking. You don’t talk enough.”

“You talk enough for both of us.”

“I didn’t tonight, I – we talked the same, I think, our talking was the same amount, tonight. That was nice. Everyone liked it. You said funny – there were funny things said, everyone thought they were funny. That was lovely, I liked that.”

Julian takes a deep breath, letting it out just as slowly. Noel watches in silence as he does it. The mattress sways, or at least Noel assumes that it does. His balance is all askew. He digs his fingers into the blanket. The sea is stormy. Noel’s surprised that he’s not feeling ill, as he usually gets seasick.

“Noel… I’m going back to sleep. It’s an early train home tomorrow.”

“Let’s stay up, Julian. Let’s stay up all night, let’s write some things. Where’s your computer, get your computer out. Come on.”

Noel gets up on his knees on the bed and bounces a couple of times, full of wobbly energy. He grins at Julian and bounds forwards on the bed, up to Julian’s side, loose and drunk. Julian lets out a grunt of pain, or surprise, or some combination of both, but it takes Noel two heartbeats more to realise what he’s done. It’s an innocent movement, but Noel’s hand has come down on Julian’s thigh instead of the mattress. There’s a blanket there, a blanket in between, but Noel knows that it is Julian’s thigh, and Julian knows that it is Julian’s thigh. He thinks about retracting his hand. He looks at Julian, who is furrow-browed and sleep-muddled. Erasing that move would be the smartest decision to make at this time.

“Sorry, Ju. Julian, can’t we—”

Julian reaches quietly for Noel’s hand as he’s pulling back. He jerks his hand back, briefly startled by Julian’s touch, but the other man’s grip is surprisingly tight. Noel wasn’t expecting this, not at all, but it’s nice and warm like it was moments ago. No, not moments ago. It was hours ago now, for the telly show. They don’t hold hands, Noel and Julian. Not these days, not any more. It’s funny, because Noel’s said that they do, but they don’t, really.

Hands are such personal things, Noel thinks. Everyone shakes hands but to really touch a person’s hands, to stroke their fingers, to trace the edges of their nails, you have to really know a person, don’t you? Hands are intimate things. Hands say so much. He and Julian don’t hold hands. Not these days, not any more. So it’s odd – odd but comfortable, like slipping his hand into an old glove – it’s odd that Julian is holding his now.

“Is this what we do, then?”

“No – I mean, you know. Do you mean the telly show? This is what I said we do, I said that, yeah.”

“Amongst other things, you said.”

“I did. I’m sorry, it just – it was funny. I can’t help it. It was funny, Julian, they laughed. They knew it was a laugh.”

“I’m going to sleep, Noel.”

Julian slips his fingers from Noel’s and lies back down on his side, facing away from Noel, reaching over to flick the light switch off and let the darkness creep back over them. Noel’s heart is beating loudly; it’s banging in his chest. This noise will keep Julian awake, he thinks. Julian can’t be getting much sleep at home at the moment, he thinks. I should leave, he thinks. But this is no in between time, this is Julian and Noel and nobody else and the time between has been long enough. Noel wriggles his way under the blanket and curls against Julian’s back, arms tucked up to his own chest, between them. Julian doesn’t move. Others might think it a bad sign, a closed-off sign. Don’t touch me. Noel knows better than others, though, and when he tucks his cheek against Julian’s shoulder blade and lets out a warm breath of a sigh, Julian responds in turn, his shoulder rising and falling, shifting under Noel’s cheek.

“Enough for now,” Noel whispers to Julian’s skin. He is probably already asleep, but Noel is sure that he knows. I got so blind that I couldn’t remember my room number. He practises the sentence in his head, trying to cement it as a believable fact. He tucks a socked foot in between Julian’s legs. The hum of the machine in the walls eventually tricks him into sleeping. They are two secret spoons in a closed, dark drawer.

 

———————

 

Deep in sleep, Noel dances through the jungle. Eyes peer out from dark places but he is not afraid; this is somewhere that he is loved and welcomed. The beat is loud and pulsates through his blood, causing his skin to break out in a sweat. His clothes, already tight, cling even tighter to him in the heat. There are bodies moving all around, pulsing and gyrating with the beat, and Noel moves with them like a fish, hands swimming like fins. Each breath feels like a gulp of water in all this fluidity. In the dreaming, Noel doesn’t need to swallow anything to feel this vibrant and alive. Noel just needs to move, to breathe. If only it were always so easy, this breathing underwater.

Noel catches a flash of white through the undergrowth and crouches down, peering. Julian is far away, holding a baby to his chest. The baby is wearing a nappy so bright that it’s almost fluorescent. Julian is looking as he usually does – a blend of consternation and thoughtfulness. He is not looking at the baby. He is looking through the undergrowth. He is looking at Noel. Noel tips his hat; Julian blinks. This time Julian has gone too far from the path. Babies don’t know their way around. Babies don’t know how to get to the path. Julian won’t hear him above the babies. Noel runs back to the path, just in case, tripping over tree roots in his haste. He is usually much nimbler but he is full of anxiety. The path is there – a quiet parent waiting patiently for its child, arms stretched wide in welcoming. Noel drops to his knees in relief. With a fluttering heartbeat and sweating skin, he’s been wondering if he too had strayed too far from the path.

He waits on his knees. He waits on the path. Noel hears a distant cry, weak and young. He lies down on his side, cheek against the cool, wide stones of the path. He tucks his knees up to his chest and he waits. The beat is gone, the jungle is still. Noel waits on the path. The jungle is still. He waits. He waits. He waits.

 

———————

 

“Your haircut, Julian...”

“ _You’re_ the berk running about in a sequined bodysuit.”

“Alright, did I say it was a bad thing?”

Noel saunters back into the boardroom in the NME office, a bemused look on his face. The Boosh are “editing” an issue of the NME, which basically means they’re causing minor amounts of havoc throughout the office, posing for a few photos, and getting to chat to a few musicians and call them interviews. Noel’s fit to bursting with excitement, though he’s fairly sure that Julian’s just in it because of him. It was Noel’s idea in the first place. Julian’s often sceptical of Noel’s ideas, particularly when they involve the media, so Noel’s kind of impressed that Julian’s here at all – particularly after noting the mood he’s been in all day.

Julian is sat in a chair at the huge boardroom table, picking at the lunch offerings and giving off the general vibe of someone who’s a bit touchy about his new hair. Noel pulls a chair out next to Julian and sits down, angling the chair out and propping his heels up on the table. He glances over the food on offer and decides to avoid it. Sandwiches, sushi rolls, a couple of salad-packed wraps – the corporate world loves the health food boom, or what they interpret as health food, anyway.

“There was an ellipse.”

“A what?”

“I heard you ellipse, Fielding!”

“What d’you mean? I did what?” Noel glances sideways at Julian and raises an eyebrow. Julian is holding a half-eaten ham sandwich and looking at Noel like a lost puppy – a tired, lost and slightly bedraggled puppy.

“You ellipsed. There was ellipsing to be had and you had it.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“You paused. ‘Your haircut…’ Pause. It was a foreboding pause. I imagine there’s a possibility that I look like a nonce. ”

“It was not! It was a… it was an exclamatory pause. I was like, ooh, look at his hair! You know? I was expressing, uh. I was expressing… some emotion instilled deep within me by your new hair. It could be rapture, it could be astonishment. You decide which one you like more.”

Julian blows out a heavy breath and stares at his half-eaten sandwich. He finishes it in three big bites, chewing slowly in between. Noel watches him, imagining a cow chewing its cud. He’s not even sure if Julian’s swallowed each bite, that’s how convincing Julian’s bovine act is. Noel removes his feet from the table and turns his chair around so that he’s facing Julian’s side. He rests his hand lightly on the other man’s arm. Julian looks down at Noel’s fingers.

“You look pretty fucking knackered, you know.”

“I am, yeah. I’m exhausted. Nice pick up.”

“Have a kip. Go on, have a little sleepy under the table. I won’t tell anyone.”

Noel’s actually quite serious about this plan. Julian doesn’t pick up on that and so just laughs it off, a big chuckle blurting out into the quiet room. Seeing the unexpected smile spill across his face pleases Noel – Julian’s been so quiet all day, and there’s also the honest truth that he loves making Julian laugh.

The boardroom walls are clear orange plastic, nothing can be hidden well in here and everything can be seen. Despite that, Noel gets to his feet and, resting one hand on Julian’s shoulder and the other on the arm of the chair, leans down and presses his lips to the other man’s temple. He means it to be brief, but Julian’s fingers wrap around his wrist quickly and he’s trapped. He takes a deep breath in, the smell of hair product filling his nostrils. There’s nothing wrong with Julian’s new hair, not a bit.

“You okay?” He mumbles the words against Julian’s skin.

“Yeah, just. You know.”

“What?”

“Just tired.”

“If you need time out, you’ll tell me, yeah? None of this working yourself into the ground business, Barratt.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s unconvincing, all of it, but there’s too much to do. There’s not enough time to argue. Noel makes a mental note to take Julian to task over all this some time when it’s just the two of them, but it’s hard to tell when that time will be. Noel is taking things as they come. He imagines Julian would prefer to have a well planned schedule to run by, these days. They used to fly by the seats of their pants but things change all too suddenly and so do people. Not Julian, Noel thinks. Surely not him. But he can’t talk himself into believing it and the odds are stacked against him.

 

———————

 

Editing is a bumbling and boring process. While Julian, Paul and the worker bees edit, Noel will take his regular nap on top of one of the tables along the wall of the narrow room until mid-afternoon. He’ll start off each occasion two minutes late with some excuse about the activities of the night before, regaling everyone with an amusing tale (sometimes true to life, sometimes embellished, sometimes completely fabricated). He’ll begin his story as he sets to work on clearing the table of any piles of paper, empty coffee cups, any and all obstructions. As he tells the story (and as the table is cleared) he’ll eventually shift backwards onto the table and end up sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall. In a staged effort to focus on the editing screens, he will twist around and stretch out over the length of the table on his stomach, crossing his arms in front of him and resting his chin on them. It will only take minutes for his eyelids to drop.

Everyone usually just lets him sleep.

When lunch break comes – it could be noon, it could be 3pm – Julian will gently shake Noel into waking and the two of them will watch through the edit to date. Noel will absently sketch monster heads on the corner of a piece of script and Julian will nudge his shoulder and give him a pointed look. Noel will scoff and throw out a lazy line about the size of Julian’s eyes and the lack of intimidation in them. They will muck about like this until the room is full of people again, people all anxious to get back to the job at hand. Noel will spend the afternoon bouncing off the walls and driving everyone just a little bit mental, particularly if Rich is in the building and egging him on, feeding the crazy.

Noel and Rich will continue to play like this for as long as they know each other; this is the basis of their friendship. Julian will only play with them after a few drinks, these days. Julian used to play all the time. These days, Business Barratt comes to work wearing a suit and tie. Whether it’s real or figurative, it doesn’t matter. Business Barratt doesn’t like to get his suit dirty. Sometimes Noel will watch him quietly from his nook on the table. Julian always looks tired these days.

Noel will remember back to when the days would wear them out, when both of them would be exhausted by the time the sun went down. Julian’s eyes are haunted by sleep, these days. Noel has seen him wake up exhausted. It could be his children, it could be his life, it could be any number of things, it could be all things. Julian will never be the first to bring it up in conversation. These days, these days, these days are all they have, now. Noel draws striped ties and bowler hats on scraps of paper and slips them into Julian’s pockets. He’ll never be sure if Julian finds them before or after they’ve been through the wash.

 

———————

 

“I just think you should do most of it without me.”

Noel snorts in response, blowing a bubble into his drink. He sits across from Julian at a table in the back of an old, tired-looking pub. They’ve just finished a radio interview, the first of many over the next few days. Every time there is publicity to be had, the same discussion accompanies the moments that they sneak alone while bouncing from one interview to the next, from day to night, from Friday to Monday. They’ve had this same discussion five million times in three million different locations. It’s been loud and soft, easy and difficult. Sometimes it begins with Noel, sometimes with Julian, but they are always on opposite sides of the line.

Noel doesn’t think of today as day one of publicity, though, because he’s spent the entire day running around by himself. Julian phoned him the day before with some excuse. Something about the family. One of the boys was under the weather, he said. Noel could handle it fine on his own, just for the day. It had taken everything in Noel’s power to convince Julian to show up for the live radio interview that evening. They’d already recorded half of it and just needed to shoot the breeze with Colin Murray to fill in the blanks. It’d be ridiculous if it was just him doing the fillers; Noel had almost pleaded but wouldn’t lower himself to it. Julian had finally agreed but there’d been a hint of frustration in his voice that Noel couldn’t forget easily.

He won’t forget it as long as it’s still lingering in Julian’s voice, the undercurrent to the conversation. Both men are exhausted, but for vastly different reasons. The day’s been roughly as long as Noel had anticipated it would be, with eighty hours crammed into eight, and here is Julian, dragging them into the same tired old debate again.

“We’re a double act, Ju. We’re not Fielding and friends.”

“We could change the name.”

“Don’t you dare. Why don’t you just retire? Go move to the country. Start a farm.”

“My very own garden.”

Julian constantly checks his watch. Noel imagines tearing it from his wrist and throwing it on the ground, stamping his shiny heel down and crushing it. One, two, three, four. One stamp for one second. One for one. He doesn’t follow through. He sits and drinks; he stares at the watch. He lifts his hat just high enough to ruffle his fringe and then wedges it firmly back on his head. He tries to slow the beat of his heart to the faint tick of the second hand but he is always too fast.

“They don’t care to speak to me. It’s always about you, directed at you. I think Colin Murray hates me.”

“To be fair, you _were_ late… he didn’t even care, I don’t know what you’re on about. No, look – wait for me to finish. It’s because you don’t even look at them half of the time, Julian. What do you expect? If you act like you don’t care to speak to them in the first place, _they’re_ not going to care to speak to _you_. You know that.”

Julian looks down at his almost-empty drink. Noel watches his fingers trace over the grooves in the glass. “It feels like such a waste of time for me.”

“Oh, suck it up. It’s promotion, Julian. It’s publicity. We have to do it, and you know it. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“Get stuffed.”

“Alright, I don’t mind it.”

“Keep tugging.”

Trying to lie to Julian is like trying to grow wings and fly. Noel’s not angry at all, but his voice manages to rise up an octave in indignation. “Fine, so perhaps sometimes I like it! Maybe sometimes it’s fun!”

“You bask in it. It’s face cream for your ego.”

Julian is right, as usual. Noel finishes his drink and places his glass in the middle of the table, twisting it once to the left and then stealing the straw from it, to chew on. A moment later, Julian finishes his own drink and clinks his glass against Noel’s discarded one. The sound is hollow but tuneful, not dull. They make a tuneful pair, these glasses. If you were to look at them briefly, just glance at them, you wouldn’t think they would go together well, but – Noel lifts his glass back up and clinks it against Julian’s again – the sound is surprisingly pleasant. Noel wants to build these glasses a home, or a boat to sail away in.

“I feel weird talking about it when you’re not next to me. It’s like… I dunno, I reckon it’d be like talking about your nippers without Julia in the room.”

Julian raises an eyebrow. “I do talk about them.” Noel can hear the surprise in Julian’s voice, but picks it as fake. Intonations are easy to identify when you act for a living.

“No, you don’t.”

“Maybe not around you, then.”

“No, maybe not around me.”

Eye contact, finally. A pause runs overtime; there will be no comedic timing here. Keep it awkward, Julian. Keep it true. “Should I—“

“Not really, no.”

“See, I assumed correctly.”

“You’ve done it on purpose?”

Julian shifts slightly in his chair. “If you’re not interested, why should you be bothered?”

“Did I say I was bothered? When they turn into humans, I’ll teach them how to wrestle pumas. We’ll use Mike for practice.”

“I promise you, they’re humans.”

“They are not. They’re jelly doughnuts with powder icing. They smell strange. They’re turning you into one of them.” Three quick drinks have turned Noel’s tongue loose.

“A doughnut?”

Noel reaches over the table and tugs at Julian’s cardigan, expecting to see a cloud of powder explode into the air when he lets go. Julian sits patiently, eyebrow raised at the proceedings. There’s nothing. It could be invisible. It could still be there. “You smell strange.”

“Oh?” he leans back in his chair, subconsciously removing his cardigan from Noel’s reach again. “ _You_ smell intoxicated.”

“Intoxicating?”

“Intoxicat _ed_.”

“Imagine that. Right, so, all things considered, that nipper business was a failure of an analogy.” Noel wishes this was funny, but neither of them even raises a smile. “Let’s forget it. Another drink?”

Even though he is exhausted and somewhat muddled from the alcohol, Noel is quick enough to catch the beginning of a movement as Julian reaches for a single serve sachet of sugar. Julian’s not drinking coffee – he just wants to keep his fingers busy. That’s usually Noel’s trick, as Noel doesn’t deal well with stillness. He is a breath behind Julian now, and catches his fingers. They have captured the wild sachet between them. Noel grins in triumph, but Julian is frowning at their captive.

“I’ve got to go fly some kites.” Julian’s words are not the victory Noel is aiming for.

“You’ve – what? It’s eight o’clock at night, are you mental?”

Julian sighs. Noel can feel the frustration leaking through his fingertips. “I’ve got to get home. I should be at home.”

Noel drops Julian’s fingers and makes quick work of the rest of the sweet bandits. He stares Julian down as he methodically rips each sugar sachet open, making a small white pile in between the two empty glasses. Julian looks old in this light, old and tired, and quiet as he watches Noel’s path of destruction stretch on. Noel waits for Julian to still his fingers, to grasp his hand, to call him ridiculous. Noel is out of sugar and Julian hasn’t moved.

“It’s sand, for their sugar island.”

Noel bares his too-big teeth in the best grin he can manage, but the longer this lack of response from Julian continues, the weaker his efforts are getting. He adjusts his hat, pushing it down further over his eyes.

“I’m getting us another drink,” he announces, getting to his feet. Julian mutters something in reply but Noel’s got his back to him as he walks to the bar. He orders their drinks and as he waits, he ponders the idea of telling Julian about his dream. Yes, or no? He can’t remember all of it. There was something about a path and it was important. He was dancing and Julian was far away. Julian’s still so far away, though. Then again, maybe telling him now would be like confiding in a stranger. Secrets are safer with strangers.

Noel walks back over to the table with two full drinks and it doesn’t matter whether he’s decided to tell Julian his secrets or not because the table is empty. Julian is gone. Noel sits and finishes his drink quickly, leaving Julian’s in front of his empty chair. He remembers now what Julian said as Noel had headed to the bar. He had said, “Goodnight, Noel,” and then disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

 

———————

 

Phone call.

“Noel?”

Julian.

“Where are you?”

The room would be bright with morning light if not for the dark material draped carelessly across the window. With tired eyes, Noel maps out the muted colours of the ceiling. He stretches his toes to the end of the mattress and lets out a catlike mewl to pair with the stretch. Without sitting up, he glances from side to side. On the left, Dee’s face is still, buried in sleep against her pillow. On the right, the mirror reflects them both sprawled out, their pale limbs tied into knots.

“In my room.”

A sigh. “Could you get the door, then?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m at the door. I’ve been banging for a solid two minutes. Were you—“

“Fuck, hang on.”

He flips his phone closed and ends the call, lurching out of bed and pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms with two steps closer to the stairs. He bounds down them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Julian’s shadow lurks beyond the door as Noel swings it open, smacked in the chest by the cold, crisp air of the morning.

“You go out last night?”

“You shocked and appalled?”

“Are you still flying? I’ll bet that I’ve woken half the neighbourhood while you slept on.”

Noel gestures wordlessly up the stairs, an invitation, but Julian shakes his head. He looks back over his shoulder and Noel’s eyes follow to the silver car, motor running at the side of the street. Dave’s leaning out the car window and recording the conversation as it happens. He grins, waves to Noel, has a chuckle. The moment of realisation that dawns on Noel’s face is captured on film. This is it – press day, go-time for the double act. Ignoring the debacle of the day before, today is the first day of three in which their publicist has lined up interviews like ducks to be gunned down, one, two, three. All of them with the same questions, no doubt. All of them with a general list of things they can ask (costumes, filming, characters, etc) and a list of things they should steer clear of (personal, social, rumours, etc).

After leaving the bar last night, Noel had told himself to take it easy and have an early one. Then he’d called Dee, ended up across town in another pub, and all his good intentions had been swallowed somewhere between his fourth and eleventh drinks – none of them paid for by him. He can count on one hand how many hours ago he’d stumbled out of a cab and through the front door with Dee, the both of them collapsing into bed.

Julian turns to Dave and the camera with a dramatic flourish of hands, presenting Noel’s form.

“Eight o’clock. Noel Fielding, still drunk.”

Noel blinks and waves half-heartedly at the camera and Dave bites his lip to hold back a snort of amusement. Julian’s hand grasps tightly behind Noel’s elbow.

“Switch it off, Dave. We’ll be back down in a tick.”

There’s another hand, also belonging to Julian, resting now against the small of Noel’s back and guiding him back inside. Noel complies meekly and shuffles back upstairs. He attempts to wrap his arm around Julian’s waist but the other man’s grip on his arm tightens and it’s fairly clear to Noel that there will be none of that. Dee will surely still be in the land of nod, they could have a minute or two... He hesitates halfway up the stairs and turns to look at Julian, to say something, but Julian’s eyes look as tired as Noel’s feel and perhaps it’s not the time to speak of these things, even in hushed voices.

Julian says, “Get dressed.”

Julian says, “I’m not doing this alone.”

Julian says, “You know I can’t bear to do these things alone.”

It’s as close as he will get to mentioning the burgeoning argument of the night before, because things need to run as normal today.

“You’re the diamond at this, Fielding. You’re the champion of the hullabaloo. Pull it together, I need you switched on.”

I need you, he says. I need you. Noel gets dressed as it rings in his ears. I need you. There had been a whisper of a time in between, but it is gone and Julian is waiting on the path for him. Noel checks his reflection in the full-length mirror once he’s dressed. It will have to do. No, maybe it won’t. He tiptoe-trots back into the hallway where Julian stands, leans, arms crossed against his chest.

“Just radio today, or are we on camera at all?”

“I’ve honestly no idea. You know I don’t give a rat’s.”

“ _You_ may not,” he mutters as he ducks back into the bedroom. Dee stretches in unconscious mimicry of Noel’s waking movements. Still half asleep, she smiles in his direction and reaches out towards Noel with a sleep-slack arm. He pauses in passing and grabs her hand, kissing each of her knuckles quickly before letting her hand go again.

“Press day, Ju’s waiting,” he says, as though that should explain it all. He rifles through jewellery as Dee watches, slowly coming into proper consciousness.

“You look fine, now piss off.”

Noel turns to retort but her head’s already buried back somewhere in her pillow. He checks his reflection again. Julian’s still waiting. It will have to do. His hair’s a mess. Perhaps Julian will let him do a quick job with the straightener. He steps into silver boots and out into the hall. He opens his mouth to speak, but Julian shakes his head and holds out a hat. It’s surprisingly well chosen, but he’ll need a coat. Julian holds his other hand, fingers grasped around Noel’s current favourite coat.

“Get out of my head, I swear, you freak.”

“I wouldn’t dare venture in there. They were on the couch and we’re already late.”

“I guess that makes a bit more sense.”

“Just get out the door, will you? We’ll be late, you’ll turn us into right proper celebrities.”

Julian’s hand is back on Noel’s arm, tugging him towards the stairs. Noel trips forward with a startled yelp but regains his footing fast enough. He hollers out a goodbye in Dee’s direction; Julian echoes it before the two of them tumble out the front door. Julian shuts one door (front) and opens another (car). Noel is bundled in with Julian close behind. Dave wastes no time in leaning backward from his perch in the front and training the camera’s lens on the two in the back seat.

“Ready for the day, Fielding? Go on. Spin some shit.”

Noel stares down the barrel of the gun and rolls his eyes dramatically, dropping his head onto Julian’s shoulder a moment before Julian starts talking drivel enough for the two of them. The shoulder is warm, but smells unlike it should. It should smell of Julian, of cigarettes and too much coffee, of that aftershave that Noel has no idea of the name of but is so definitely Julian, possibly woody and a little spicy. This shoulder smells foreign. There is a powdery smell that’s coating everything familiar. Noel is jolted back to the strangest in between time. The awkward call of congratulations, the weary voice on the other end of the phone. He squeezes his eyes closed. If he squints hard enough perhaps he can squint it all away, all these in between times just gone. It won’t work, though. With eyes closed, he can still smell it. It’s overpowering. He’s not sure how Julian made it back, after all. Suddenly filled with anxiety, Noel lifts his head from Julian’s shoulder and blurts out,

“Are you back, Julian?”

“Back? Did I go somewhere?”

“Ready.” He blinks, momentarily vacant. “I meant ready. You know. For the day. The probing questions. The eagle eyes.”

Julian takes a moment to consider. “Well, I’m never really sure. Until it happens.”

Julian watches Noel. Noel watches the world pass by, just outside the window. The camera watches one, then the other. The silence stretches out longer and longer. One, then the other. Noel yawns at the window and the glass fogs up. He signs his name in it. The camera light goes off and Dave raises an eyebrow.

“This first stop had better have a Berocca or three for you sods, or this is going to be a fucking long day.”

 

———————

 

Day two passes by without a hitch, despite tired eyes. They spend the afternoon at the office, rehearsing for the performance they have to give on live radio the next morning. Completely unprepared (their own fault), they run through a few songs from their back catalogue of nonsense, picking out a couple of favourites and trying them out with Noel on vocals and Julian on acoustic guitar. It’s a quiet sound and reminds Noel of the early days when things would sometimes begin this way, sometimes end this way. Julian cracks a laugh a few times and that gives Noel some hope, but soon enough the sun is setting, his guitar is packed away and his keys are in his hand.

“Got a couple of friends coming over for dinner,” Julian says, throwing down an excuse.

Noel used to be one of those friends, but he’s not a family man. He doesn’t have to think about family things. His topics of discussion won’t be interesting at Julian’s dinner table these days. He and Julian used to sit around that very table, eating Pot Noodle, talking drivel and drinking ridiculous concoctions made of whatever was on the shelf full of alcohol. These days he pictures full roast and three veg meals, glasses of expensive chilled white wine covered in condensation and mind-numbing chatter about first words and baby smells. This judgement isn’t based on any kind of first-hand experience, however, because Noel has never sat at the table when it’s been like that. He hasn’t sat at the table for dinner in a while, now.

He wants to smack Julian for cutting him out like this, like he’s an abrasion on his skin. In this moment, winding himself up, Noel decides that he has become an abrasion on Julian’s life. He says nothing, though. He says nothing to someone he’s long considered one of his closest friends, some sort of brain twin, the person he used to spend so much time with that the two of them started turning into the same person. He says nothing and Julian says nothing as they silently pack up the few things they’ve scattered around the office. They both say nothing as they leave the room, with Julian locking the door behind them.

“Want a lift home?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll grab a taxi. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.”

They exchange words, but they both say nothing. When they split up silently and take different directions, Noel hugs his arms over his chest, pulling his coat tighter around him. He listens to the satisfying clunk, clunk, clunk that his heels make against the footpath. He’s not sure how it’s going to happen, but he’s going to drag Julian back onto the path – kicking and screaming, if need be, but Noel is stubborn. He has no idea how it’s going to work, but Noel is determined to make Julian say something again.

 

———————

 

The next morning, Noel crawls into the back of the car, nursing an almost full mug of coffee close to him. He shuffles over to the far seat, his ugly green coat trailing out behind him. The heat from the coffee billows up against the window of the car. He draws a tiny skull in the foggy glass and quickly signs his initials, then watches as the next wave of steam mists over the top of it. If he doesn’t drink the coffee soon, the sketch will be lost forever.

“Where’s Julian?”

Dave’s got the camera in his lap, not recording yet. “He needed a bit more time this morning, something about the boys.”

“Oh, right.”

That’s all he can muster up. He takes a sip of his coffee in silence, focusing on the rumble of the car beneath him as it follows the roads to Julian’s place. Noel doesn’t drive but he still knows the directions and can recite them off by heart. Turn left here. Take the second street on the right, and then go straight through four sets of lights – and on it goes. He ticks them off in his head as they happen, and eventually the car pulls up in the gutter. Noel stares at the front door, waiting for it to open. He waits. He waits. He waits.

“Go get him, yeah?”

Dave’s looking at Noel in the rear view mirror. Noel raises an eyebrow and almost blurts out that Dave should go fucking do it himself, but that’s because it’s not midday yet. Unless that’s just an excuse, and the real answer is that Noel feels awkward walking into Julian’s world these days. It’s filled with things he’s unsure about and things he’s not allowed to be involved in. Even if Julian’s never voiced it quite that way, Noel feels it. Julian’s place used to feel like an extension of his place, just another couple of rooms that belonged to him. Terribly messy, but comfortable. The day they rented out the office was the day that stopped. Both of them can silently acknowledge that much, if not much else, when it comes to acknowledging these things.

Noel pauses with his knuckles a breath away from knocking on the front door. Maybe he’s been lying to himself; maybe all of it’s been in between time since then and he’s just been mistaking slight discrepancies as things coming back together. He slams his fist into the door, hard. He hears heavy footsteps, a lock turning. Then he sees Julian’s face, flustered and tired.

“Alright? You ready?”

He’s almost barrelled over by Julian, who doesn’t pause at the door but keeps rolling through, laden with bags and straps and looking like a packhorse. Noel glances into the front hallway as the door swings shut, but it seems like Julian’s got all of it. Noel watches him shove his guitar case and the other equipment into the boot of the car. Julian climbs into the back seat and Noel follows him at a slight distance, wary. He pulls the car door shut and turns to Julian, holding out what’s left of his coffee, which is most of it. Julian takes it from him wordlessly and finishes it in three big swallows, placing the mug on the floor of the car and sitting back upright with his nose scrunched up in distaste.

“Christ, Fielding. Was that coffee or straight liquid sugar?” His voice is gravelly, altogether Northern in its early morning lilt.

“It’s not real sugar, it’s fake sugar. I promise there was coffee in there somewhere.”

Noel glances at Dave in the front seat to confirm that he’s facing forwards and that the camera’s not trained on them before focusing his attention on Julian. The bags under his eyes are impressive this morning. His beard’s growing out again, but not in that premeditated way – it looks more like it’s just erupted from his skin without warning. He looks five, maybe seven years older than he should. Noel shuffles over to the middle seat and shifts around so that he’s facing Julian. He wraps his fingers lightly around Julian’s wrist, sliding them up under the cuff of his jacket. He leans in close to the other man’s ear, speaks in a whisper for just the two of them.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“Moody?”

“No, just tired.”

“So if I were to say we should spend some time in the office this afternoon, you wouldn’t bite my head off?”

“Doing what?”

“Not biting my head off?”

“No, I mean in the office. Doing what?”

“I’m not sure, yet.”

Julian’s wrist twitches under Noel’s fingers in response to his words. Without a yes or no, the conversation seems to be over. Noel slides back over to the other side of the seat and the rest of the trip is filled with mindless chatter for Dave’s camera, focused back on them once again.

They pull up at the radio station’s studio and pile out of the car, Julian appearing to have lightened up – not entirely, but enough for Noel to feel comfortable throwing jibes his way. He ducks up behind him and jumps onto his back, tucking his knees against Julian’s sides. Julian’s hands automatically wrap around his legs to steady him, but then he’s laughing and trying to shake him off. Dave’s camera is trained on them; Noel is whooping so loudly that it’s bouncing off the brick walls surrounding them.

“Go on, there’s a coffee shop just down the road…”

“I’m not carrying you to a bloody coffee shop!”

“I’ll race you, then. I need some caffeine. Go on, Ju. You might even win, you know I’m all wobbly in heels.”

Julian finally manages to dislodge Noel, but he’s ready to get back down anyway. He heads out to the car park’s entrance and starts off down the street with Julian not far behind him. The mood’s sufficiently lighter than it was in the car. Noel thinks it could be the fresh air, possibly also the promise of good coffee – not that his fake sugar wonderland wasn’t drinkable, despite Julian’s claim.

Julian catches Noel up quickly enough and they walk in comfortable silence for a block and half before Julian grabs Noel’s arm quite forcefully. It’s startling, too, first thing in the morning, and Noel lets out a squawk of indignation. Julian starts off in the opposite direction, back towards the studio, without an explanation. Noel trips up in his boots and tries to pull his arm free of Julian’s grip.

“What the – fuck off! What’re you doing?”

Julian’s wristwatch is suddenly in Noel’s face, but it’s gone again before Noel can read the analogue hands clearly.

“I didn’t notice the time. See the time? We’re late. I think it’s my fault, but we’re late. We’ve got to get back.”

“I want some fucking coffee, Julian, let go of me.”

“We’ll get a coffee after the interview. Or somebody there will get us one. We’ll get Lambo to grab us one.”

“They’ll wait for us, let’s just get one now. Let go!”

“We’re not running on your time, we’re running on their time.”

“I just want some coffee! You go back and tell ‘em I’m not far behind you.”

Julian stops in the middle of the footpath and releases Noel’s arm, turning to face him. There are other pedestrians but thankfully none of them seem to be the kind to rush up and ask them for autographs, because this isn’t really the best moment for it. Noel considers jumping on Julian’s back again because that seemed to diffuse whatever strange tension was in the air earlier. Then again, Julian didn’t look this unimpressed with him earlier.

“Don’t be a show business tramp, Fielding.”

“A _what_?”

“You heard me.”

Julian starts walking back toward the studio, alone. Noel watches him for a few seconds, then jogs to catch him up, accidentally bumping into an old lady. He apologises quickly and ignores the scowl he gets in reply, but he can’t really help it, he honestly is wobbly in his heels. He slows down again once he reaches Julian’s side and does his best to look meek. He glances up and notices Dave standing on the footpath outside the studio, still filming. He flips him the bird before turning his attention to Julian again.

“I’m not a tit, you know.”

Julian scoffs, but glances sideways at Noel and scrunches his nose up, almost smiling. “Don’t act like a tit and I won’t think you a tit.”

“You know I’m not good with mornings.”

“Did you just push over an old woman?”

“I got confused, I thought she was you.”

Julian laughs and bumps his shoulder against Noel’s in a friendly, familiar gesture. The only problem is that Noel’s not expecting it and stumbles sideways, taking a few tricky steps before regaining his footing. Julian assists by grabbing his arm and holding him up awkwardly, but he doesn’t stop chuckling. Noel shoots him a filthy look but really, it’s all in jest. Despite the lack of coffee, this could be quite a good morning. Coffee would make it a great morning, Noel thinks, looking back over his shoulder forlornly. But it could still be a good morning.


	2. What's Not In Between, Part Two.

———————

 

Impossibly early on the following Tuesday morning, there’s a knock at the door.

Noel’s in the small kitchen in his flat, dangling a teabag in steaming hot water. The string has twisted around his finger and the tip of it is slowly turning purple as he watches. Three thoughts rush into Noel’s mind at the sound of knuckles rapping against the door. The first has to do with the fact that this is the only time the music from the stereo has stopped filling the flat in about four hours. Had the knock come any time in the last four hours, there would have been no chance of him hearing it. He’s just been thinking about what to put on next, too. What coincidental timing.

The second thought concerns his clothing. It’s the middle of the night and he’s been painting in his pyjamas – loose fisherman’s pants and a tank top. Well, it used to be a t-shirt but he got sick of the sleeves and cut them off with scissors one night when he was drunk. He’s used to waking up in the mornings and finding that he’s done some handiwork overnight. It’s an outfit of comfort, already covered in marks here and there of paint, but it’s not an outfit he’s keen on wearing while answering the door.

The third thought comes barrelling over the first and second as Noel flicks the sodden teabag into the kitchen sink. It’s the middle of the night. Why would somebody be knocking on the door in the middle of the night? Who even does that these days when there are mobile phones all over the place? Noel’s not entirely sure where his mobile is, though – possibly buried in the couch – so he can’t judge this person for the current lack of usage.

He looks at the wall clock – 3:47am – and blinks a couple of times. There’s another knock on the door. As he moves through the lounge room, he glances at the canvases splayed all over the floor. There’s still so much painting to be done. He clutches his cup of tea to his chest and steps carefully down to the door, rubbing his eyes. His body isn’t tired but his eyes are, just a bit.

It’s only when he reaches the door that Noel starts giving serious thought to who could be behind it. There are only a few people in the world that Noel will be able to deal with while he’s awake at 3:47am _and_ sober. Mostly sober. One is Dee, who finally gave up on the evening at half ten, when she realised that Noel was going to be poor company if she stayed awake and a noise disturbance if she tried to sleep. She didn’t storm out; she was quite pleasant yet quick to let Noel know that he was useless to her and she was off to find something better to do. Two is Mike, who has occasionally rocked up unannounced and drunk in the past, causing much entertainment on Noel’s part.

“Come on, little man. Open the door. I can hear you breathing, you know.”

Three is Julian. He seems to almost fall inside, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it. The cold air rushes inside with him and Noel shivers, goose bumps prickling up on his arms. They both stand in the dark in silence. Noel isn’t sure how to start a sober conversation at 3:47am.

“Do you want a drink?”

“… Yeah, yes. I think that’d be quite good.”

Noel leads the way up the stairs and heads straight for the alcohol, pouring out a couple of neat drinks before joining Julian in the lounge room. He seems to be making his way around the edge of the room, looking at all of the unfinished pieces strewn across the floor. Noel stands quietly in the doorway, holding his breath. Julian is no harsh critic but Noel still needs approval from him. Noel will always seek Julian’s approval, always.

The room is dimly lit; Noel is comfortable with painting in the dark. Julian is still circling the canvasses when Noel changes CDs. It’s only then that Julian seems to realise that Noel is even in the room. He comes over to his side and takes the drink with a nod of thanks, then moves to the couch, shifting a canvas over so that he fits. Noel smiles and winks one eye shut, surveying the landscape as if through a looking glass. Julian, moving and alive amongst the stillness. Maybe the artwork will revolt and steal the life from him.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” The music is loud enough that they have to raise their voices to be heard over it.

“You looked at them. What do you think?” It feels like shouting; it doesn’t feel right. Noel turns the volume down until it’s just a hum.

“Oh, right. They’re – I like them. Very bright. I like – you’ve used lots of colours.”

“Yeah, I like colours. I like when they talk to each other.”

“You can see that, I think, if you look at them the right way.”

“Did you look at them the right way?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay.”

Noel shifts over to join Julian, alighting on the arm of the couch. He finishes his drink and watches Julian, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest, watches Julian resist making eye contact. He watches as Julian swallows the last of his drink and places the glass neatly on the coffee table in front of him. He watches as Julian’s breath hitches and his shoulders tense up, and then Noel can’t just watch any more. He slips off the arm of the couch and slides down onto the floor at Julian’s feet, his hands coming to rest lightly on Julian’s legs.

“I can’t do anything if you won’t fucking talk to me, Julian.”

“I’m not – it’s not – it’s too windy for flying kites today.”

“Speak real words.”

“I can’t.”

Noel sighs; Julian echoes it. Noel grips Julian’s legs and pulls himself up, carefully and gingerly slipping onto Julian’s lap and straddling his thighs. He sits lightly, trying to hold himself up and keep his weight off the other man, waiting to see what will come from this. He’s stepped inside Julian’s bubble and waits on tenterhooks to see if it will pop. There’s a moment, a beat, which hangs in time for what feels like an eternity, but then Julian drops his forehead onto Noel’s shoulder and tucks his arms around Noel’s back. Exhaling with relief, Noel brings his hands to rest on Julian’s shoulders and slides them slowly up, skimming nimble fingers along his shoulderblades, the nape of his neck, up into his hair to curve against the back of his head.

Julian mumbles something against Noel’s collarbone that Noel doesn’t quite catch, but Julian doesn’t move and he’s not about to disturb him. They sit like this for what stretches out into a lifetime, neither of them moving except to breathe, swallowing the air like it’s in short supply. Noel can feel his limbs starting to go numb, that odd pins and needles sensation crawling its way up his legs. He shifts slightly, the smallest movement, but it’s enough to startle Julian back into the present and his head comes up from Noel’s shoulder. Noel cringes in apology, brushing his fingers through Julian’s brown smoke.

“Sorry. My feet are all tingly.”

“I can’t breathe. I feel like I can’t breathe, I feel – I feel smothered.”

“Oh, fuck, sorry—” Noel moves awkwardly, attempting to struggle off Julian’s lap, but the other man’s hands grasp his hips and hold him firmly in place.

“I didn’t mean because of you.”

“What? Oh.” There’s a pause; Noel tries to seek out the features of Julian’s face in the dim light. He imagines Julian sitting in a pastel-painted room in the middle of the night, overwhelmed by instincts that refuse to come naturally to him. Julian would be driven mental by the lack of control, surely. “Is that why you’re here?”

“You’ve got some paint on your cheek.”

Julian’s hands come up to Noel’s face and rest against his cheeks. His thumb traces a line over Noel’s cheekbone, rubbing gently at his skin. Noel brings one of his own hands up over where Julian’s rests and entwines their fingers. He shifts ever closer, pressing himself against Julian’s chest. A wave of dizziness washes over him and he settles more firmly into Julian’s lap, to steady himself. He can feel Julian’s breath on his lips.

“It’s oil paint, it’s not going to come off. I’ll need turps.”

Noel lifts his chin and it bumps against Julian’s nose, then it’s all over. Julian’s hands slip down against Noel’s neck and draw him in close. Their lips touch and there’s a faint taste of alcohol lingering but that can’t be to blame for this. Noel says goodbye to the in betweens and traces a line along Julian’s bottom lip with his tongue as Julian’s hands slide back into his hair. He feels Julian’s fingers twist around a handful and tug at it gently; Noel can’t stop a moan from escaping, buzzing against Julian’s lips. Noel lifts up off Julian’s lap for a moment, towering over him. He paws at the front of Julian’s shirt, curling into fists over his collar as he tries to pull himself even closer against him and squeeze the last of the air out from between them.

The buttons on Julian’s shirt are easy enough to find under Noel’s deft touch. Shifting back down onto Julian’s lap to give space between them again, he frees one hand from Julian’s collar and steps his fingers over the other man’s chest, slipping each button undone as he snakes his way down. Julian is lost in his mouth, tongue tracing along curves he knows well. Noel imagines him following a map; creased and well worn, covered in scribbles added each time he finds something new. He pushes back against him and it’s hot and wet, full of secrets that won’t be voiced.

Noel traces out his own map, pushing Julian’s shirt clear of the path that he traces with his fingers over Julian’s chest. Julian pulls back from Noel’s lips and watches as his short, chewed fingernails sketch out lines of muscle and skin, a constellation of freckles, an old scar he can barely see but knows is there. Noel glances up from his invisible handiwork and smiles, soft and sweet. Julian scrunches up his nose.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m making you a map.”

“You’re making me _into_ a map, or making a map _for_ me?”

“A bit of both.”

“And if I follow this map you’re making, where am I going to end up?”

“Back on the path.”

“The what?”

“Never mind.”

Julian reaches for one of Noel’s hands and holds it between both of his as he leans back against the couch, letting out a heavy breath. Noel follows, shuffling further forward. He rests his free hand against the back of the couch and leans in to mouth at the exposed collarbone, lingering there for a moment before pressing light kisses against Julian’s skin as he follows an invisible line up his neck to his jawbone. Noel tucks his arm around the back of Julian’s neck and moves back in close, holding tight and breathing him in. The music’s stopped again.

“Noel, I need to sleep.”

“What?”

“I’m really tired, I need to close my eyes. Just for a couple of hours.”

Noel sits back upright and shifts back a bit, untwining his arm from around Julian and almost pulling his hand free from the other man’s grasp, pausing for a moment first. Something dawns on him; a wretched key turns in the pit of his stomach as he leans back. He raises an eyebrow at Julian, cocks his head to the side.

“Did you come here to sleep?” Julian opens his mouth to reply but Noel cuts him off before he’s even made a noise. “I mean, you know. Is that all you intended to come here for? You just needed somewhere to crash?”

“Noel…” Julian lets out a breath and averts his eyes, focusing on a spot somewhere near Noel’s shoulder. “Kind of, I—”

“Could you not have said that at the door? Hello, Noel, mind if I have a nap? A small pouch of words that sum up your middle of the night arrival enough for me to say, oh, look, Julian’s come for a nap.”

“Please don’t get stroppy.”

“I’m not getting fucking stroppy. Have your fucking nap, Julian.”

Noel pulls his hand back from Julian’s grip and struggles back off Julian’s lap, getting to his feet. His hands come straight up to his hips as he takes up a defiant stance, unsure as to why he’s so incensed but not bothering to keep it in check. Julian takes a moment longer to follow Noel up to his feet but finally does, letting out a groan on his way up. He moves over to stand in front of Noel and reaches up to run his fingers through Noel’s hair, ruffling it up with a half-hearted smile.

“I thought you – I _hoped_ you might understand. I’m sorry. We can talk about it, yeah? But can we do it after I’ve had some shut eye?”

Noel wants to pull back from Julian’s touch, but he’s never been good at it. “Just tell me you’re not just here because it’s somewhere you can sleep.”

“You’re a daft bastard sometimes, Fielding.”

“ _Tell_ me. Or I’ll cover you in acrylics.”

“I’m not just here because it’s somewhere that I can sleep.” Julian pauses for a beat; Noel holds his breath. “Satisfied? Can I go and sleep now?”

Noel sighs as he nods his head in acquiescence. Julian steps closer and envelops him in a tight hug; all Noel can do is wrap his arms around Julian’s back and cling to him. The silence is almost unbearable. Julian allows Noel to press a chaste kiss to his cheek before stepping back and heading through the doorway and presumably down the hallway, toward the bedroom. Noel watches his retreating back before coming to an awkward realisation. He takes a couple of bounding steps after Julian and grabs his arm, speaking stiltedly.

“Not the bedroom… the couch, yeah?”

Julian’s eyes widen and his voice drops to a harsh whisper. “Don’t tell me that Dee’s in there, Noel. Don’t tell me that.”

“No, no, she’s not, she’s out tonight.” Julian exhales heavily in reply; Noel can feel the relief flood through him and feels much the same way. “I dunno where, though, so she could be back whenever. I don’t know. The couch is okay, though?”

Noel runs his fingers down Julian’s arm and grabs his hand, leading him back to the lounge room. Julian follows complacently enough and settles back down on the couch. Noel is still clutching his hand, waiting for something but he can’t say what. He leans down over Julian and looks him square in the face, only a breath away. It gives Noel some reassurance that he looks genuinely exhausted, though he wishes he’d noticed earlier. In his defence, ‘tired and run down’ is the look that Julian has been regularly sporting these days. He squeezes Julian’s fingers, resting his free hand on the other man’s knee.

“Give me something, Julian. Anything.”

Julian leans forward and brushes his lips against Noel’s, then squeezes his hand and raises it to his lips. He untangles their entwined fingers and holds Noel’s hand open between both of his. Julian kisses Noel’s palm, the whiskers of his moustache tickling at his skin, then he curls Noel’s fingers over into a fist and releases it from his grasp. Noel nods, more to himself than to Julian, and tucks his hands into his pockets as Julian twists around on the couch, unfurling on his back.

“Can you sleep with the light on? I’m not really tired, so I’d like to keep painting.”

Julian grunts in reply and that could be taken either way. Noel wants it his way, though, so he presumes that it’s a yes and seeks out a canvas that’s asking to be worked on. He kneels down onto the floor, searching for his palette and a paintbrush for the job before looking over the canvas with a critical eye. Silence floods into the room and Julian’s asleep already; Noel can tell from the change in his breathing. He sits back on his feet and chews on the end of his paintbrush, eyes drifting from the half-finished painting to where Julian is stretched out in slumber. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He sets to work.

 

———————

 

Deep in sleep, Noel dances through the jungle. He doesn’t feel like a fish tonight, the music is dulled down and his limbs move slowly, heavily. Something is holding him back. Time passes slowly as the beat shakes its way through his system, thump, thump, thump. He is drenched in sweat – his clothes are cold and soaked, but he still dances on because the beat will never stop. He is languid and languorous as the dark greens and browns of the jungle spiral in to embrace him, hold him close and reassure him.

A brown flash whips past his head and Noel is distracted, alert again. The monkeys swing high above him in the trees, whispering secrets that he’s desperate to learn. Maybe one day he will be a monkey. He’ll fly effortless through the trees and whisper secrets to friends who know how to keep them. The monkeys laugh at him, rooted to the earth and so cumbersome.

Heavy paws grab at him suddenly, they drag him through the undergrowth and the beat grows quiet. He can’t hear it any more but he still feels it in his bones, thump, thump, thump. Heavy paws release him and Noel stares at a big brown bear, tall and terrifying. It’s not a bear, though. It’s not terrifying. It’s Julian, who embraces him, holds him close and reassures him. He whispers secrets to Julian and knows they will remain with him, close in his chest just next to his heart.

 

———————

 

Noel wakes next to a finished painting in the early afternoon. He is stretched out alongside a canvas on the lounge room floor. He turns his head from side to side to see if his neck is sore from the awkward sleep, but then notices that there is a pillow on the floor where his head has been resting. He can’t recall putting the pillow there. The couch is empty. Julian is gone.

He gets to his feet and stretches his back, yawning audibly before padding down the hallway and into the bedroom. The bed remains unslept in; it looks exactly as it did the night before, bar a missing pillow. Noel plucks a change of clothes out of the wardrobe and notices that the flat has become quieter all of a sudden. He thinks about it before realising that the shower had been running, but has now stopped. Noel freezes as though trapped in headlights. It could be Dee or it could be Julian. His sleep-addled brain adds that it could be _both_ of them, and he has to sit down on the edge of the bed to try and control a fit of giggles.

The door knob to the bathroom turns and Noel can’t push aside the anticipation of finding out who it is, so he gets back to his feet and stumbles sleepily out into the hallway. Julian steps out before a cloud of steam follows; he’s dressed in the clothes he was wearing when he came in last night, but his hair hangs in thin, wet ringlets and his skin appears damp from the shower. Noel discovers this as fact when Julian comes crashing into him, pressing him back against the wall, flashing him a wolfish grin before sliding his tongue past Noel’s lips.

Julian tastes of mint. Noel entertains the notion that he’s used Noel’s toothbrush. He’s almost too sleepy to handle this assault but quickly overcomes that thought as Julian turns his attentions to Noel’s neck, biting down gently. Noel squirms and lets out a startled yelp, bucking against Julian’s hip and scrabbling fingers at his waist. Julian’s tongue finds Noel’s ear and the tip curves around the shell of it, and Julian lets out a warm, heavy breath.

“Make us a cuppa, yeah?”

And then Julian’s gone, disappearing back into the lounge room. Noel stays with his back heavy against the hallway wall, letting out a loud groan. Julian responds with a light-hearted laugh that echoes through the thin walls of the flat and Noel slumps further down the wall, knees bent weakly in a vain effort to keep him up.

“You’re a cunt.”

There’s a smirk in Julian’s voice as he replies, “Just do it, Fielding.”

Noel stays slumped in the hallway for another minute or so, taking a few deep breaths and pressing the heel of his palm into his groin. The hitch in his throat finally clears and he straightens up, running a hand through his hair. Forget the shower and the change of clothes, both things can wait. As Noel heads into the kitchen and fills the kettle, he contemplates inventing a contraption that will print out Julian’s thoughts, paraphrased and in layman’s terms, because he’s got no idea what’s going on. He’s got no idea, but he’s not about to put a stop to any of it.

Warm hands grasp Noel’s hips from behind as he stands at the kitchen sink; Julian’s pressing up against his back, pushing him into the bench. He strains back against him, sucking in a sharp breath as a large hand slips up under his shirt against his ribs at the same time as warm lips find his neck again. This early morning barrage from Barratt is anything but fair, he thinks with a lazy smirk, reaching a hand up to fist in Julian’s hair. The fingers against his ribs creep down, down, down and crawl under the waist of his loose trousers, curling over his cock. Noel’s jaw drops and he lurches forward, banging his knee against the bench and cursing breathily. From somewhere behind him, Julian snorts in amusement.

The kettle boils over but Noel doesn’t give a fuck about tea any more. He grips the edge of the kitchen bench with white-knuckled fingers, his head hanging over the sink as he breathes low and shallow. Julian’s fingers disappear and he raises his head, ready to protest, but Julian leans into him, over him, and runs his hand through some puddled water in the sink before finding Noel’s cock with his fingers again. Noel gasps loudly, as though someone’s dumped a whole bucket of icy water over his head.

“That’s fucking cold, you bastard.”

Julian just laughs in response and Noel turns his head to glare over his shoulder at him, but then Julian’s pressing his forehead against Noel’s temple and he’s still grinning and his fingers are sliding over the length of Noel’s hardened cock and Noel’s forgotten what he was going to say, anyway. Julian does something with his thumb and Noel bites down hard on his lip, moaning lavishly and arching himself back against Julian. He feels something more than just hips push up against his arse and he mutters quietly as a kiss is pressed to his cheek; the mutters sound like Julian’s name and a number of awful things. Noel shifts his hips back to be sure, to confirm it before he does anything rash – but then lets out a breathy laugh, because surely if anything’s rash, it’s whatever’s going on already.

Julian’s hard; just thinking about it makes Noel dizzy, but to feel it even through layers of clothing drives him crazy. He tries to turn around and face Julian, wanting to do five different things at once to him, cling to him and hold him close, drop to his knees and suck him off, rub skin against skin and chain himself to Julian so that he can’t escape him again. He can’t do any of it, though. When he tries to turn around, Julian just pushes him harder against the bench and he’s pinned like a moth. Julian’s knuckles bang into the bench as they work over Noel’s cock; Noel swears and gives up on his struggling, reaching a hand back to grab at Julian’s hip while keeping his other hand on the bench.

Before Noel’s anywhere close to getting off, Julian’s hand is gone again. Noel’s about to say something, swear at him, call him a fucking tease, but then both of Julian’s hands are on the waistband of his pants, fingers hooking in and tugging down. Noel glances back over his shoulder and bites down hard on his bottom lip, trying to catch Julian’s eye. Julian won’t look at him and Noel can see the determination, the focus in his eyes. It’s the kind of look that would normally make Noel feel a stupid flutter in his gut, but right now he’s fairly sure that he could get off on nothing more than that look and a light touch of fingers.

Noel almost blushes as Julian drags his pants down to his thighs, letting them fall to the floor. He feels the sweat prick up on his forehead and takes a step back from the bench, pushing into Julian, who stumbles back and grabs onto Noel’s hips to steady himself. Breathing heavily, Noel leans over and crosses his arms on the edge of the bench, resting his forehead on them. Julian’s hands skim up underneath his shirt, over his back, then back down to clutch firmly at Noel’s hips again. Julian ruts up against Noel’s bared skin, and then his hands are gone. Noel hears the clink of Julian’s belt buckle as he undoes it.

“Oh my fucking god, Ju, please.”

A silence hits; Noel can hear Julian breathing but there’s no movement. He lifts his head from the bench and glances back at Julian, who finally looks back at him. Julian parts his lips and lets out a breath and despite all of it Noel can see the anxiety in his eyes. Whatever’s been going on in his head all morning seems to have disappeared, leaving behind the shell-shocked man who stands behind him.

“Julian.”

“Yeah.”

“You know I want this, yeah?”

Julian purses his lips, nods his head curtly. His fingers graze over Noel’s hips and it takes everything in Noel’s power to restrain a heavy shudder that threatens to run the length of his spine.

“Do _you_ want this?”

Julian’s fingers tighten on Noel’s hips. He almost looks defeated as he nods his head again. Noel rolls his eyes and takes advantage of Julian’s weak moment to squirm around, careful not to trip over as he untangles one foot from his discarded pants. He rests his hands on Julian’s shoulders and forcibly manhandles him until they’ve swapped spots and Julian stands with his back against the kitchen bench. Noel tilts his head to the side and gives Julian a fairly pointed look as he makes light work of the zip on his trousers, then leans in to graze his lips against Julian’s cheek.

“Why fight it, then? You twit.”

He pushes Julian’s trousers down over his hips and brings a knee up against the flat surface of the bench, his naked thigh pressed in against Julian’s bare leg. He glances up and the heat’s back in Julian’s eyes; if the anxiety’s not gone then it’s at least being overpowered. Noel grins and nips at Julian’s bottom lip, then Julian’s hands are either side of his face, his eyes are closed, Julian’s tongue is in his mouth. He slides his own tongue against it, rutting his hips up and smirking against Julian’s lips when he gets a low moan in response.

Opening his eyes again, Noel steals Julian’s trick and leans over the sink to run his fingers through the water before grasping nimble fingers around Julian’s cock. Julian’s hands slide up Noel’s arms and tighten around his biceps as he lets out a shaky breath. Noel loosens his grip, shifting slightly before closing his fingers again, this time around both Julian’s cock and his own. Julian leans in with eyes closed and buries his face in Noel’s hair, his breath warm and heavy against Noel’s ear. Noel thinks about delaying the pace, really making Julian sweat, but he’s afraid that Julian might disappear in a cloud of smoke at any moment and that none of this will come to anything.

He wants it to come to something. He wants it badly.

To try and prevent Julian from disappearing, Noel slips his free arm around Julian’s back and holds on tight to a handful of his shirt. His lips part as he works his fist over the length of their cocks and he moans quietly, feeling Julian’s echoing noise ghost over his ear. He marvels at their synchronicity, the way they align and the heat of Julian’s cock against his, just how that feels and how it all seems to fit together. It’s hard to focus as he jerks his wrist up and back and Julian’s fingers are digging tighter into his arms with each passing moment. There will be bruises, he’s sure of it but he doesn’t care.

Somewhere amidst the silence between their gasps and moans, somewhere over the slick noise of Noel’s fist working, comes the sound of the front door swinging shut heavily, of shuffling feet and jangling keys. Julian tenses up and his head snaps back, his eyes wide. Noel freezes and his jaw drops only a moment before Julian’s fingers clench around his arms and shove him backwards – it’s forceful enough, unexpected enough that Noel goes sprawling onto the kitchen floor and smacks the back of his head on the opposite wall.

“Mother _fuck_ —”

The exclamation’s loud, louder than it should be. He struggles back to his feet, quickly wrenching his pants back up as Julian does the same. Noel can picture Dee at the foot of the stairs, shrugging out of her coat, meticulously untying her shoelaces. He glances over at Julian, who is sweaty and flustered. Surely he looks the same; he’s desperately hard and aching – just the act of pulling his trousers up over his cock gives him cause to moan. As footsteps sound on the stairs, Julian flicks the kettle’s switch back on and stands facing the sink again, hands braced against the bench top and shoulders heaving.

“Noel, are you home, pet?”

Dee’s light footsteps sound down the hallway and she glances into the kitchen as she makes her way past, most probably heading to the bedroom. She pulls up and reverses, coming into the kitchen with a grin that’s mostly for Julian, crossing the floor to lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

“Didn’t realise you were here, darl. Nice surprise.”

Noel’s standing at the fridge with the door open, looking for the milk. He knows it’s in there somewhere but he’s having some trouble focusing. The back of his head hurts. His guts are all twisted up. Dee comes over and places a hand on the small of his back, gives him a fond kiss on the cheek to match the one she’s just given Julian. At least they still match. She swans back out of the kitchen comfortably and Noel immediately looks over to Julian. He’s staring into the sink and his knuckles are white. Noel’s fingers tense on the fridge door and he tries again to locate the milk.

“I can’t find the fucking milk,” he murmurs.

Julian clears his throat and crosses over to the fridge in three strides, reaching in around Noel’s torso and pulling the milk bottle from its normal place in the door. His skin seems to be magnetically repelling against Noel’s skin; they are so close but Noel doesn’t feel his touch, not even once. Not even by accident. Noel blinks, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that when he opens them again, things will have come back into focus. Julian hands him the milk and he places it back in the fridge, shutting the door and then moving across the kitchen to Julian’s side. He places light fingers against Julian’s side and Julian replies to the action with an appalled look on his face.

“ _Don’t_ start. Just don’t.”

“My head hurts.”

“I don’t care about your head, Fielding. No, look, I’m sorry – sorry about your head, but this is ridiculous.”

“We could go to the office…”

Noel steps in close, far too close, and presses his groin against Julian’s hip – then suddenly Julian’s elbow is against his chest, pushing him back. He looks furious; Noel can’t comprehend it but he takes a step back just to get out of the way of the looming storm cloud. Julian lets out a heavy sigh and covers his eyes with his hand, fingers rubbing at his temples.

“I’m going home, Noel.”

“Should I… Am I coming with you?”

“No, you’re not.”

Julian shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen. Noel finishes stirring the tea, noticing only as he’s doing it that Julian has only put tea in one mug – the other is empty. He hears Julian moving around in the lounge room, but it’s only when he hears the footsteps on the stairs that he realises Julian has already said goodbye, in his own blunt way. Noel takes in a deep breath and holds it, as if being dragged underwater. His lead feet carry him out into the lounge room and he slowly, painstakingly crouches down to look at the painting he finished the night before.

Sipping his tea in an effort to steady himself, Noel follows the painted curve of Julian’s slumbering shoulder with his eyes. He won’t be able to use this in the exhibition. He shouldn’t really keep it in the house, either. His fingers shake as he reaches out to trace along the border of the canvas before he pulls it facedown onto the ground, hiding its splendour, smothering it. It’ll be a pity to paint over it, but there are things you have to do.

 

———————

 

They celebrate season three’s viewing numbers with alcohol. They celebrate a lot of things with alcohol, they always have, but this time it’s viewing numbers and the alcohol is champagne from the executives with a congratulatory note attached. Julian slips the note into his trouser pocket after reading it but Noel wants it for his scrapbook; he reaches out for it and Julian flinches away as if he’s been bitten. Noel hasn’t even touched him.

“Fine, _you_ keep it.”

“Oh.”

The flat’s full of people, just the regular crowd. They watch the second episode on the telly; most of them have already had a couple of drinks by the time it airs and Noel finds himself commentating on the entire thing with a stream of verbal nonsense. Julian occasionally peeks at the television though a crack in his fingers but spends most of the time drinking and trying not to watch the screen. Mike’s brought his girlfriend and they sit comfortably on a couch in the corner of the lounge room like two little mice. Dave thumbs through Noel and Dee’s combined CD collection, making three piles on the floor and nobody’s game to ask what criteria he’s using to sort them. Noel tries to remember to keep an eye on him, because knowing Dave, it’s highly likely that one of the piles will go missing at the end of the night and that Noel will discover the contents strewn around Dave’s living room the next time that he’s visiting.

Julia hasn’t come tonight, as she’s preoccupied at home with the twins. They thought about bringing them along but Julian ended up deciding that they might be a hassle for the rest of the group, who haven’t yet reached the ‘partying with babies’ time of life. Julia feels bad for staying at home, she sends her apologies, she wishes they could have got a babysitter but she feels as though the twins are still too young for her to be leaving them. Julian feels like a giant bear when he’s alone with them, his huge paws as big as their heads. He’s hoping their first words will be of Mensa International standards, perhaps something like “equilibrium” or “perfunctory”. When he’s on nursery duty, he reads aloud from the dictionary.

Noel has to piece this story together bit by bit during the evening as he overhears Julian telling this and that to different people. From the sound of it, the more Julian drinks, the more comfortable he gets in sharing these kinds of tidbits. Noel hasn’t been fed any stories by Julian all night, though it’s not because Julian knows not to speak to Noel about these things. It’s because Julian hasn’t spoken to him properly all night. It’s like a sharp slap in the face every time Noel attempts to start a conversation, no matter how weak it is. Julian bats his words away, shrugs them off and leaves him in the dark. It’s been like this for days, now. They’ve exchanged words – polite, perhaps even fond greetings – but Julian will not meet his line of vision. Repelling magnets, Noel thinks. It’s an eye war, but Julian has come into battle already defeated. Noel can’t remember declaring war in the first place.

With Dave playing DJ, Noel heads to the kitchen with the assigned mission of fetching another bottle of bubbly from the fridge. Julian appears from the bathroom, wiping his hands on his trousers. They both stop a breath away from colliding with each other; Noel reaches out a hand to rest on Julian’s hip. It’s to assist in preventing the collision, of course. Julian’s eyes are half-lidded; he’s well on his way to having had too much champagne. Noel feels a bit light-headed himself, even though he’s spent more of the evening running around, showing off his finished pieces and talking nonsense than he has drinking. He thinks about stealing away a bottle all for himself, hiding in the bedroom and finishing it quickly, just to catch up with the majority of the group. With his fingers on Julian’s hip, Noel considers asking Julian to join him.

“You should try meringue,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“For their first word. Try for meringue.”

“That’s not clever, Noel, that’s food. That’s sweets.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to spell. And it’s not far off from the noises they already make, so it’ll be a smooth progression.”

“The noises they already make?”

“Yeah, like cats. Prrr-owr. Mrrr-ringue. I reckon if Russell’s cat can say it, then the nippers probably could, too.”

“Meringue’s one of _your_ words.”

“I know. Try meringue.”

Julian shakes his head slowly. His eyes flick up to Noel’s face for only a moment, then down to his hip. It seems to Noel that Julian’s only now acknowledging, maybe even just realising, the location of his fingers. Julian’s hand comes to rest over the top of Noel’s and though he draws Noel’s fingers free of their grip, he doesn’t release them. After the past few days of silence, this hand-holding in the hallway feels like a mockery. Noel tugs Julian in the direction of the kitchen and he follows submissively, resting his free hand in between Noel’s shoulderblades. The light touch is enough to send lightning through his nerves.

There’s still a healthy collection of bottles in the fridge, so Noel pulls out the one closest to his hand and nudges the fridge door shut with his foot, turning back around – and into Julian’s embrace. The shock of it almost causes him to drop the bottle but he manages to tighten his grip just as he feels the bottleneck slipping through his fingers. Julian keeps a tight grasp on Noel’s hand as he slips his free arm around Noel’s waist, pulling him in close and burying his face in Noel’s hair. Noel takes in a shaky breath before slowly wrapping his arm over Julian’s shoulder. The champagne bottle comes to rest against Julian’s right shoulderblade and he jerks away from the cold sensation in surprise, pressing himself closer to Noel, who tightens his grip further on the neck of the bottle. He silently wills Julian to not make any more sudden movements or there will be a chance of glass shards all over the floor.

Don’t kiss me, he thinks. Don’t kiss me, don’t kiss me, don’t kiss me.

It takes all the effort he has just to keep the thought in his mind. People say to them so often in passing that he and Julian must share a brain; Noel hopes now more than ever that it’s true, because he knows that if Julian doesn’t hear him, Noel won’t be able to resist it. As much as Julian seems to be able to say no to Noel, Noel doesn’t think a day will ever arrive where he’ll be able to say no to Julian.

Noel hides his face in the crook of Julian’s neck and breathes him in, powder coating and all. The soundtrack to this moment is comprised of the quiet hum of the fridge, a sporadic drip of water from the tap, muffled conversations coming from down the hall that fight for volume over the bass line of Dave’s latest selection, the wall clock’s steady ticking. Julian’s soft and steady breathing is warm against the side of his head. They stand in silence for what is physically just minutes but mentally stretches into hours, days, weeks.

“HEY! WHERE’S _MY_ HUG? OOH, LET’S MAKE A MANWICH OF LOVE!”

Rich breaks the moment as only Rich can, bursting into the kitchen and almost colliding with Julian’s back as he throws his arms around the both of them. Julian lurches forward and Noel stumbles backward in turn, bumping into the fridge hard enough to jolt it off the ground for a moment. It bangs back down into place and the three men break apart, Rich prising the champagne bottle from Noel’s fingers. Noel takes a sideways step and leans back against the kitchen bench, squinting under the bright fluoro light. He’s shaking; his breath is trembling and his legs are like jelly and he hopes that the other two ignore it because he isn’t focused enough to articulate a decent excuse. He closes his eyes for a long moment and pictures himself as a chameleon, slowly turning stucco to match the kitchen tiles.

When he opens his eyes again, Julian has herded Rich back out to the party, or Rich has followed Julian’s retreating figure, and he is alone in the kitchen. He decides that getting pissed quickly would be the best way to deal with this, and so he grabs another bottle of champagne from the fridge. With slightly trembling fingers still, he pops the cork over the kitchen sink and takes a mouthful, feeling the bubbles creep up into his nose. One more mouthful swallowed down and that’s enough for him to force himself into a swagger as he heads back into the lounge room. Nobody pays him much attention, nobody’s really been waiting with bated breath for him to re-enter the scene. He resents the entire room full of people, if only for a moment.

Julian’s occupying the couch, stretched out and chatting to Dee, who’s perched on the arm of the couch like a cat. Noel takes another swig from his champagne bottle and makes his way over to the couch, but stops as his eyes water up and the bubbles tickle his nose. He lets out a sneeze, making a minor scene of it and wiping his hand on Mike’s shoulder.

“Oi, get fucked!”

Mike swings a tiny fist over the couch in the direction of Noel’s thigh but he dances out of reach, noticing that Julian’s shifted over on the couch to make room for him. He flops into the vacant space and gets comfortable as Julian slings an arm around his shoulders, his attention still focused on Dee and whatever conversation they’re having. Dee is grinning and nodding, Julian is talking loosely and animatedly. Noel clears his throat to interrupt them but they ignore him.

“I sneezed.”

“—the way his fingers bent up, he was like, OH, GOD! Did you see his face?”

“Shit yes, that was hilarious, I almost wet my knickers.”

“I SNEEZED.”

Julian and Dee stop mid-conversation and both look at Noel, who suddenly feels a bit silly. He swigs another mouthful of champagne; just as he’s swallowing it, Julian cuffs him lightly on the back of the head and Dee wrinkles up her nose in a grin in response to it. He chokes on his drink and panics for a moment, thinking that it’ll come out his nose. Relief floods through him when he manages to swallow it all, but Julian and Dee are lost to their drunken giggles.

“Gesundheit, mein fuehrer,” Julian splutters out as he calms down again, that stupid grin still stretched across his lips. Dee lets out a snort but then furrows her brow as the song changes; she clearly doesn’t approve of the choice.

“What the fuck’s he think he’s doing?”

Slipping off the arm of the couch, Dee bounds over to where Dave is crouched next to the stereo and leaps on his back, tackling him to the floor. Everyone cheers as Rich hollers out an ear piercing war cry and flops onto the both of them, resulting in loud wails of pain from both Dee and Dave. They rough and tumble around on the ground as Noel focuses on finishing his bottle of bubbly. He tries hard not to be distracted by Julian’s fingers twisting around in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Julian’s drunk and therefore this is anything but fair for either of them. When the bottle is empty, Noel wedges it down the side of the couch. Something quieter comes on; Noel thinks it could be The Cure. The synthesiser keyboard riff confirms his guess. He tilts his head to rest it on Julian’s shoulder. Julian’s fingers squeeze his shoulder, then stay there. Noel closes his eyes and the lights go out, the music ends, everything stops.


	3. What's Not In Between, Part One.

———————

 

They collide four days later.

Having fallen into silence again, it’s not something they’ve planned or mapped out – during the in between times, four days is nothing, but when those times are gone, Noel gets anxious. It’s something he’s picked up from Julian over the years, this anxiety. He never used to feel such a knot in his stomach. When he’s really pissed off with Julian, when he has a chance, he tells him it’s like a cancer. Julian’s never dealt well with the tantrums that Noel throws when the event calls for it. He can’t help the rare occasions when they bump heads; it’s alarming. It sets him off. Noel’s also learnt that all explosions lead to reconciliations.

It’s as natural as breathing for the two of them to choose their own moment to head to the office to get some work done, when ‘work’ without the other there is just a waste of time. That’s why it’s as natural as breathing that one should be there, waiting quietly, when the other turns up. Noel doesn’t realise that’s what he’s been doing, waiting, until a key turns in the lock and Julian steps into the room. Noel’s fingers tighten their grip on the arm of the couch as Julian hesitates in the doorway.

“Oh… hi. What you doing here?”

“Thinking about colours.”

Julian just nods in reply, finally committing to closing the door behind him and walking over to the couch. He flops down next to Noel, who belatedly wonders if Julian wants him to ask why _he’s_ come here. He tilts his head to the side and conducts a silent study – Julian’s twitching fingers, the way his collar falls, the angle at which he crosses his leg so that his ankle meets his knee. He doesn’t suppose it’ll hurt to ask. Then again, he could be well off the mark.

“How about you?”

“The, uh. The kites are all snagged up. I don’t have the – I don’t know. I’m too impatient for them. I can’t untangle them.”

“So you came here.”

“Yeah.”

“Not my place.”

“Noel…”

“I’m just nutting all this out, alright?”

“Right, sure.”

They talk in muted tones when Noel yearns for colour. He jumps to his feet and retrieves an acoustic guitar from the corner of the room, bringing it back over to Julian and dropping it neatly in his lap before plonking himself down on the ground, cross-legged at Julian’s feet. Like an old, subconscious force of habit, Julian starts tuning it, his brows furrowing in concentration. Noel walks his fingers over the carpet and up over Julian’s shoe to his ankle, watching Julian’s face. The other man glances down, then holds eye contact with Noel for only a moment before focusing back on the guitar.

“Go on, Ju.”

“What?”

“Play something. Pick a chord.”

Obediently, Julian plucks out an A minor, following a few strums later with an E minor. They’re two of the only chords that Noel recognises – it’s because they’re easy to play. They make Noel think of rainy days and melted ice-cream, of sad and lonely monsters. Noel looks over to the windows, where the rain pelts against the glass. At least the weather is fitting.

“This is the story of a grumbly bear called Julian.” Noel begins a story, drumming his fingers against the other man’s leg.

Julian keeps strumming his two chords, over and over, finally playing along. “A grumbly, yet dashing and articulate bear.”

Noel’s mouth twists into a grin before he pulls a face. “Yeah, _what_ ever.”

“Where does he live?”

“Inside a dead tree, in the middle of the jungle. It’s pretty snug. He evicted some squirrel monkeys. He wanted to cohabitate but it just wasn’t gonna work, he was too big.”

“Oh, no.”

“Also, they were repelled by his musk.”

“His bearish musk.”

“See, when he gets sad, he doesn’t cry. He just stinks the place out.”

“He sounds lonely.”

“He is, he’s sad and lonely and smelly.”

Julian stops strumming, starts picking out a tune with only four notes. “Maybe he’s just confused.”

“What’s he confused about?”

“Just… regular bear stuff, like… hibernation, and honey. Stuff like that. Regular bear stuff.”

“Is he a regular bear, though? He’s got tawny fur and all the other bears are dark colours. Aw, it’s a nightmare, he goes to bear assemblies and all the other bears stare at him and talk about him in whispers with their paws cupped to their noses.”

“It’s hard for him. It’s hard to be a tawny, smelly, lonely bear in the forest, with hibernation confusion.”

“With tiny eyes.”

“With great musical skill.” Julian flourishes his fingers over the guitar for emphasis, and then resumes his chord strumming.

“Stuck in an old, dead tree, with no-one to appreciate him.”

“So alone.”

Uncrossing his legs for a moment, Noel shuffles forward awkwardly on his backside and ends up sitting on Julian’s foot. He crosses his legs again – around Julian’s leg, trapping him. Noel knows the right way to catch bears. Julian strums on, seemingly oblivious, as Noel walks his fingers up Julian’s leg to his knee, then back down again. “But is he really alone?”

“He’s not?”

“He thought he evicted all those squirrel monkeys but one of them hung around. One of them’s still in the tree, it creeps out and watches him at night times with its tail all a-quiver and its big round peepers popping out of its head.”

“Does big old tawny bear know?”

“He’s pretty much clueless.”

Julian places his palm against the guitar strings, to still them, and sits the guitar up on the vacant spot next to him on the couch. Careful to avoid kicking Noel in the head, he uncrosses his legs and sits back, slouching down comfortably with his legs akimbo. Noel is quick to rest his chin on Julian’s knee and hug his arms around the leg that he’s got trapped. He follows Julian’s movements with watchful eyes as Julian hides his face in his hands, next words muffled.

“Does this monkey with dubious stalker qualities have a name, too?”

“Noelle.”

With his chin resting on Julian’s knee, Noel’s head bobs as he talks. He pictures himself as a ventriloquist’s dummy, all wooden and strings. If Julian was looking at him, he’d get the joke, but his face is still hidden. His fingers twitch as Noel sits quietly, patiently. He slides his hands down to his cheeks and then drops them heavily into his lap, raising an eyebrow at Noel in scepticism.

“It’s a girl monkey.”

“It’s a girl squirrel monkey, yeah.”

Julian’s words are laden with a dry amusement. “You’ve self-inserted as a girl squirrel monkey with dubious stalker qualities.”

“I never said it was _me_.”

“You didn’t need to, you flipping truncheon.”

A beat. “I guess it was a bit transparent.”

Julian’s giving Noel this look and without fail it causes something in Noel’s stomach to twist over. The thing is, he knows how it feels to have someone look at him with lust in their eyes, some shallow desire to crawl inside him and possess him. The kids in the clubs are the worst, all messed up and not caring about etiquette with their roving hands. They always go for his hair first, arse second. It’s almost offensive, but he loves the attention. He knows how it feels to have someone look at him all fit to burst with love, too. She is precious to him in some secret way that nobody else can be, tucked away in a place that nobody else will reach.

Noel knows what it’s like to have lust stare him down. He can identify love in softening looks. There are other things that Noel likes to find in peoples’ eyes – laughter, admiration, cheekiness. Other things, he hates discovering: apathy, boredom, indifference. It doesn’t matter who holds these looks; it could be best friends or total strangers. Noel will do whatever he can to convert them. Sometimes it will take only minutes to talk somebody around, other times it will take hours. Sometimes it just means walking away, but never without a struggle, at least an attempt.

Julian has worn every shade of emotion in his eyes. Noel can pick almost all of them – some are easy to identify straight away and always have been, while others have become easier the longer they’ve known each other, the more time they’ve spent together. This look, though… this look doesn’t have a name. There are so many things caught up in it that Noel gets lost trying to find them all, possession and chaos and ardour and confusion. These are things that Julian can and will not say with words. This is something Noel can’t package and define. It might be possible to do so but he’s too afraid, in case it means that this will slip from his fingers, in case it means that Julian will never look at him like this again.

Underneath Noel, Julian’s foot shifts. It’s the slightest movement but as all of Noel’s weight is on it, there’s no chance of him missing it. Noel raises his head from Julian’s knee and slowly, purposefully leans back, arms untangling and fingers coming to grip behind Julian’s knee. He’s unable to break eye contact as Julian shifts his foot again, but he bites the corner of his bottom lip and breathes out slowly. It never takes much for Noel to wind up but Julian sits like stone; Noel can barely spot the rise and fall of his chest.

“Julian, come here.”

Noel sits up straight again and crawls his fingers up Julian’s leg, reaching for where his hands rest in his lap. It’s more of a blind fumble because he’s unwilling to look away, trapped under Julian’s gaze. The other man doesn’t move, not an inch, not a breath. Noel digs his blunt fingernails into Julian’s thigh and laughs as he finally drags a reaction from him. Julian’s brow furrows and his mouth opens in a silent growl, and Julian is still there, but that look is gone.

“I thought you were a squirrel monkey, not a feral cat.”

“I can’t be a cat. I don’t have claws, I have stumps. Monkey hands.”

Noel earns a laugh in response to this as he raises a hand and wriggles his fingers, but still Julian doesn’t move. Noel rolls his eyes and leans back, back, back, soon enough lying on the floor, his legs still tucked around Julian’s foot. He stretches his arms out in a full wingspan across the carpet and stares up at the ceiling. The room falls silent and Noel breathes it in, willing Julian to get involved somehow. When he finally contributes, it’s not what Noel’s expecting.

“I should probably get going.”

Noel quickly struggles his way back up into a sitting position, incredulity smeared across his face. “You _are_ joking me.”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“You do not.”

“I do, I shouldn’t have really come here to begin with. Not today, anyway.”

To Noel, they feel like nothing more than feeble excuses. “Not today? Then _when_ , Julian?”

“Don’t get petulant, Fielding.”

Disobeying the request, Noel untangles his legs and gets to his feet, scuffing his boots around the room as he collects his things together. From the corner of his eye, he tracks Julian’s movements. The other man stands and heads straight for the door, having brought nothing in with him. Noel’s head snaps up in Julian’s direction; he drops his things back into a pile on the floor and crosses the room with quick steps, putting himself between Julian and his escape route. Julian reaches out for the door handle. Noel is quick to copy his movement but pulls up short, instead wrapping his fingers around Julian’s wrist. Julian’s eyes flick up to meet Noel’s and he lets out a steady breath, but Noel is the first to speak.

“I’m not getting petulant.”

Julian stares at him for what feels like forever. Noel’s worried that he’s peeling away the layers of him, getting to the truth of him, because he’s always feared that Julian would one day succeed in doing just that. Noel focuses everything he has on this moment, on wanting Julian to be here with him, wanting Julian to forget about everything else. The longer he goes without something, the more he craves it, and only Julian can scratch this terrible itch. The other man parts his lips around an as yet unformed word and Noel thinks please, please, please.

“Fielding, this is—”

“Ridiculous?”

“Yes, ridiculous. This is ridiculous.”

“I know.”

There are things that Julian can and will not say with words, but that look is back in his eyes. To Noel, it seems redundant to try talking his way through this. Instead, he pushes hesitation and stillness aside and grabs Julian’s collar with his hands to pull him in, reel him in. Julian’s hand is still on the door knob; a second passes, two seconds pass. Noel hears a click and the door is locked. Before he has a chance to make a proper move, Noel is shoved back against the door. Julian’s hands come up to Noel’s cheeks and he’s smothered, smothered but not complaining, though hopeful that the trembling of the fingers against his cheeks is anticipatory and not purely due to anxiety.

And then Julian’s tongue is in his mouth; a thigh shifts in between Noel’s legs and nudges against the inside of one knee, pushing it out. Noel moves his leg compliantly, going so far as to hitch his knee up and hook his leg around the back of Julian’s thigh, ensnaring him. Noel closes his eyes and his fingers fist in Julian’s collar, holding him in close as he turns his head and fights back against Julian’s tongue, grazing his teeth against the other man’s bottom lip. One of Julian’s hands is suddenly on his waist, no, travelling, sliding up under his shirt with his fingers spreading out over Noel’s ribcage. Stretching further still, a digit brushes against his nipple. Whether it’s an accident or not, Noel decides it’s possible that he might pass out. He can’t move, he can barely think.

Julian ends the kiss to take a breath and Noel turns his head to the side, cheek pressing against the cool, smooth surface of the door. Julian leans in to rest his forehead against Noel’s temple, huffing out a warm breath through his nose as he slips his other hand up under Noel’s shirt. Fingers ghost over Noel’s ribs and he shivers, ticklish, sucking in a sharp breath. In a silent act of revenge, Noel grabs Julian’s waist and pinches his hip. Julian is quick to swot Noel’s hand away and grab his fingers, slamming his hand back against the door, up high next to his head. Eyes still closed, Noel runs his free hand down along Julian’s side, finding the waistband of his trousers and following it around. He turns his wrist and splays his fingers out to cover the front of Julian’s trousers. Noel’s lips curl into a smirk as Julian shoves his hips forward against Noel’s palm. The deep timbre of Julian’s voice is almost startling amongst the chorus of breaths and soft noises.

“Shut up, you smug bastard.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.”

It only makes Noel’s smirk more pronounced. He peers at Julian out of one eye and Julian is furrow-browed, staring him down with flushed cheeks. He turns his head so that he’s facing Julian straight on again and rolls his eyes, shifting in tightly against Julian’s hip, pressing his crotch in as hard as he can bear to; for all the words he has in his vocabulary, he can’t think of a simpler way to tell Julian that he’s getting hard, too. Noel quirks an eyebrow to punctuate his silent sentence and Julian’s eyebrows flash up in reply.

“Oh.”

“So get over it, yeah?”

“You want me to get over it?”

“You know what I mean. You’re not alone on this sinking ship.”

Noel shifts the heel of his palm in and starts to gently rub it over the material of Julian’s trousers in small, neat circles. The only thing Julian seems able to do is freeze up and groan, parting his lips to push the noise out. Noel is quick to lean in and trace his tongue along Julian’s bottom lip before pushing it into his mouth, meeting no hesitation. Julian’s hold on Noel’s hand against the door weakens as he leans into Noel’s ministrations, his eyes closing. Seizing the opportunity, Noel tugs his fingers free and finds the button on Julian’s fly. He makes quick work of it with both hands, getting the zip down just as Julian’s eyes open – though it could also be _why_ he opens them, wide and slightly hazy. Before Julian has a chance to hesitate, to stop him, to run from this, Noel slips his hand down the other man’s pants and wraps his fingers around his cock, feeling it harden further in his grip. Julian reacts with a noise that delights Noel, and he pulls back from Julian’s lips with another smirk.

“Was that a whimper, Barratt?”

Noel tightens his fingers just lightly around Julian’s cock and the other man sucks in a sharp breath, grimacing just slightly – no doubt in response to the question. “Shut your mouth.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that?”

It only takes a moment for the confusion in Julian’s eyes to clear. In that moment, Noel leans against the door and slides his back down it until he can drop forward onto his knees from a lesser height. He glances up at Julian and watches as his eyelids flutter, watches as he splays his fingers and steadies his hand against the door to keep himself on his feet. There’s a chance his legs could fail him, soon, if Noel can get away with his next bold move.

“Because if I were to do that, to shut my mouth, I don’t think I’d be capable of this.”

Hooking the fingers of his free hand over Julian’s pants, Noel pulls them down and gently tugs Julian’s cock out into view, his fist still firmly grasping it. With another quick look to Julian, he leans in and removes his fingers, using both hands to inch Julian’s pants and trousers down to his thighs. Julian’s cock bobs free and Noel nudges his nose against it before licking a path from the base right up the shaft, circling the head with the tip of his tongue. Julian curls his free hand into a fist and presses his knuckles hard against the door as Noel shifts back to sit on his feet, his back bumping up against the door, his eyes tracking up to focus on Julian’s face.

“So it’s up to you, really.”

“Fielding…”

“Fuck it, Julian. Try Noel. _Noel._ You can afford to be familiar right now.”

“Christ, Noel. I’ll call you Tricia if you’ll just _stop talking_.”

“You’re lucky I know better than to be offended by that, old man.”

Julian leans in more heavily against the door, shifting to rest the length of his forearm against it for sturdier balance. His fingers drum against the wood and he bends over to rest his forehead against his arm. Noel notes that Julian’s whole body has shifted forward somewhat – his fingers are still twisted up in Julian’s pants but there isn’t as much of a strain on his arms now. He doesn’t have to shuffle back in much further to be in reach of Julian’s cock, though he pauses before doing so. Noel kneels on the floor at Julian’s feet, craning his neck back and waiting for Julian – to do what, he’s unsure.

“Ju—”

“Noel. _Please._ ”

This is a victory. Noel tells himself this as he leans back in and presses his tongue against Julian’s hot flesh, sliding up along the path of a vein before taking the head in his mouth. Julian’s knees jerk sharply in response and his cock slips from Noel’s lips, smacking wetly against his cheek. Noel wipes the back of his hand against his cheek as he snorts back a laugh, glancing up to share the joke with Julian before seeing his face and noting that he is perhaps unprepared for a giggle. Resting one hand firmly on Julian’s hip, Noel untangles the fingers of his other hand from Julian’s pants and grasps the base of the hard cock in front of him. He holds it steadier as he attempts the act again, licking his lips before sliding them over the head and swirling his tongue around it, thick with saliva. Julian groans and Noel murmurs a response, only giving Julian cause to groan again as Noel’s lips buzz against his skin.

Noel pulls back and takes a breath as he slides his fist up the length and back to the base, unable to resist glancing up at Julian once again. The other man’s eyes are half-lidded, his mouth slack as he watches Noel fisting his cock with long, lazy strokes. Noel chews on his bottom lip and raises his other hand up to Julian’s cheek, brushing against the light fuzz of stubble. Julian turns his head and catches Noel’s fingers between his teeth, biting down softly on them.

Leaning back in, Noel licks over his own knuckles before pressing his lips against the head of Julian’s cock, gently sucking as he works his fist. He slows down for only a moment and traces along veins with his fingers, squeezing lightly as he brings them together again just under the head. Julian’s hips twitch forward involuntarily just as Noel parts his lips, and Julian’s cock is shoved into Noel’s mouth. Julian, groaning at the heat of it, bites down hard on Noel’s fingers. Noel tries to take the shaft but comes back off again quickly with a faint choking sound, a thin line of saliva stretching out between his bottom lip and the head of Julian’s cock. With flushed cheeks, he licks it up and mouths over the head again, picking up speed with his hand and bringing the edge of his fist up to his lips again and again.

Julian shudders, lifting his chin and causing Noel’s spit-wet fingers to drag over his stubble and down his throat to rest against his collarbone. Determined with his task, Noel works his tongue softly, each small breathy noise from Julian adding up to an eventual triumph. Finally, Julian tangles his fingers into Noel’s hair and tugs his head back. Noel’s lips pop off Julian’s cock audibly and his back thumps against the door as he continues to feverishly work his fist. Julian murmurs Noel’s name and trembles, hips jerking forward as he comes. Noel slows his hand, gentle now as Julian’s fingers grab his hair tightly, yanking at it. He opens his mouth to let out a yelp when Julian’s hips twitch forward again and he’s hit in the face with a streak of come. Noel bites down hard on his lip and tastes it, closing his eyes and leaning back heavily against the door, with Julian messy and trembling.

Noel opens his eyes again when he feels Julian starting to move around. Only a moment later, the other man is crouching down over him. He rubs the back of his hand over his face, feeling the stickiness smudging against his skin. Not really sure what to do with his hand when he’s done, he quickly rubs the back of it against his thigh. Julian rests a hand just next to Noel’s head against the door and leans in to press his mouth against Noel’s, a warm breath ghosting its way into the kiss. Noel’s knees are close together and Julian’s heavy weight shifts in to straddle his thighs, softening cock resting limp against Julian’s leg. Noel runs his hands up Julian’s arms and hooks his fingers together behind the other man’s head, exhaling heavily and pressing his lips to the corner of Julian’s mouth. A breath, and back to his mouth. A breath. His mouth. Over and over as Julian just breathes, shoulders rising and falling under Noel’s wrists.

They stay like this as minutes pass like hours. Julian’s hands grip at Noel’s sides with trembling fingers. Eventually, Noel stirs and runs his fingers up through Julian’s hair, gently nudging his head up.

“I’ve got to be off, Ju.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Isn’t – don’t you want me to – are you—”

There are things that Julian can and will not say with words. Noel listens to him fumble with some of the things he can not say before cutting him off.

“I’ll be fine.”

Julian shuffles backwards awkwardly so that Noel can struggle to his feet, pushing back against the door to lever himself up. Once he’s on his feet, Noel heads off around the room to collect his things, something he started doing at the beginning of all this – most items are waiting in a lazy pile for him. Julian takes his time getting to his feet, turning his back on Noel to do his trousers up and straighten out his shirt. Noel’s fairly confident in assuming that Julian’s shirt hasn’t been ironed; he’s not sure why the man bothers trying to pull the worn creases from it.

Noel crosses to the door and turns the handle, feeling the lock click open. Julian is suddenly at his side, reaching out to rest his hand over Noel’s as his wrist swivels, about to pull the door open. Déjà vu doesn’t work if the roles are reversed, though. Julian tucks an arm over Noel’s shoulder and draws Noel in against him, burying his face in Noel’s hair. Noel stands frozen for a moment before melting against Julian, pressing a kiss against the bit of bare skin that he can reach on Julian’s neck. Julian steps back again and crosses his arms over his chest for only a moment before reaching up to cover his eyes with one hand, rubbing his temples. Noel thinks that it’s possible he’s just witnessed a moment pass where Julian looked almost forlorn. It’s baffling. Noel isn’t sure what to make of it.

“I’ll give you a call, then. Yeah?”

Julian slides his hand from his face and crosses his arms over his chest again. “Yeah, we’ll – yeah. Give us a call, we’ll get together – we’ll do some writing. Start on something. Isn’t – don’t we – have we got something else coming up?”

“I dunno, probably. I’ll see you before I have to, though.”

“Right, yes. Give us a call. Or I’ll – I’ll let you know when I’ve got some free time.”

Noel smiles softly, fingers brushing against the door jamb. “Have a nap, Julian.”

“I thought I might do that.”

“I think it’d be good for you.”

“I’ll do that, then.”

Julian shuffles over to the couch and flops down onto it, letting his head drop to rest against the back of the couch. After a moment he turns his head to the side, cheek coming into contact with the couch’s old green leather, and watches as Noel continues to hover in the doorway. One moment and then another passes before either of them speaks.

“Sleep tight, Ju.” Noel grins loosely and steps out the door, starting to pull it closed when Julian’s voice trickles through again.

“Noel—“

“I know, Julian.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“I know.”

Noel pulls the door closed and heads down the stairs, his heels clip-clopping on the concrete. Once he’s rounded the corner, he almost collapses into the brick wall of the stairwell. It’s taken Noel every piece of will he has in his body to walk away from the room when he’s still this achingly hard. He presses the entire length of himself against the wall, focusing on each breath he takes, trying desperately to think of anything but his erection.

Wavering for a second, he considers running back up the stairs and into the office, lunging at Julian and demanding an exchange – but it’s better this way. Noel murmurs it once, twice, three times to himself in the stairwell, punctuating the murmured chant by bumping his forehead against the cool bricks again and again. It’s better this way. It’s better this way. It’s fucking better this way, you idiot. Now, keep moving. Go home. Don’t turn around. With one more shaky breath he decides that he’s probably ready to do that.

The rain has stopped but the early evening air is crisp, tickling his warm skin. Noel stops for a moment to fish his sweater out of his bag, pulling it on in the middle of the footpath before picking up his bag and resuming his walk, jumping into a puddle every few steps. Each step further away from the office feels lighter than the last. Julian is probably already asleep back there. Noel licks his finger and notches a straight line in the air in front of him. He knows far too well that Julian likes to play fair, and although Noel finds that concept ridiculous, it means that Noel has the upper hand. In Julian’s mind, he now owes Noel. It’s not like Noel’s expressly planned it this way – he can convince himself of this if he forgets the last five minutes of self-administered pep talks. Serendipity has dictated the situation thus, and Noel doesn’t like to mess with fate.

 

———————

 

Deep in sleep, Noel dances through the jungle. There is no moon tonight and the world is full of shadows that snatch at pieces of him and try to crawl inside. He is made of softer stuff, of feathers and furs, and with each step of the dance he counts the prickles and burrs attaching themselves to him. One, two, threefourfive. He will let them grab at him and cling to him but he will not let himself be caught.

In the darkness, he cannot see them, but knows they must be ugly. Things that cling and do not let go, that he will have to pry off when given the chance. He has to ignore them, he has no time for them as there are better things to do and more insistent places to go. He has somewhere to be. Instead of stumbling and tumbling through the blackness, snagged and grabbed, he is light of foot and heart – though it thunders in his chest beneath pregnant storm clouds and pieces of rainbow that lie in wait for an aftermath.

Pelting through the darkness and engulfing him like a hurricane, the black wings of bats ask him where he is going as they rush past, enticing him backwards into the denseness. Their acrobatic dance is beautiful and dangerous but he does not have wings, he can’t follow where they go despite his own beauty, his own danger. Things can be the same and different, things can be here and there. A solid stone beneath his foot tells him that he is where he should be. He is here, wingless and beautiful. He is waiting.

Boom. Boom. Boom. He can feel each of the laboured footsteps through the earth before he hears them. The undergrowth skitters and shuffles in anticipation. The jungle’s inhabitants are running, hiding. But he has no fear. He turns, smiling, and holds his arms outstretched, welcoming. A prickle would not dare sound so loud.

 

———————

 

Two days. It has been two days. Noel sits cross-legged on an armchair in the lounge room, pretending to have a staring contest with Freddie Mercury’s head as it balances precariously on a greyhound’s body, canvas propped up on a wooden chair only an arm’s reach away. It’s depressing to admit that Freddie is winning the staring contest. Noel sighs and finishes the tea in his mug, weighing up how much effort will be required to make another one. He doesn’t really need another one. It’s only mid-afternoon and this tea makes number seven. The flat is a prison and he is wearing clothes printed with arrows, shackled and chained by the unfinished paintings. He has spent two days barely concentrating, only finding the time enough for grinding his teeth and pacing.

There are surely worse things in life than waiting, but when Noel tries to think of such things, he can’t name them. Most things these days are too good, most things come to him too easily. These days he doesn’t do a lot of waiting. When the time comes for waiting, he’s driven almost mad. He does things to run and hide from the waiting. He buys ridiculous clothes. He does silly things to his hair. He hides things around the flat and giggles when Dee walks right past them, then guffaws when she finally comes across them (it doesn’t matter if it’s an accidental finding or if he’s guided her towards discovery in his own particularly unsubtle way). She usually throws them at him in response, rarely considering their weight or velocity.

Back when he and Julian had to wait to find out if they were finally going to be signed for a television series, a proper series of episodes, Noel ran so far from the waiting that he ended up in the south of France. He drank a lot of wine and talked to cows, rolled down grassy French knolls and ate baguettes and croissants. He wore a red beret and smoked clove cigarettes and spoke broken French, children’s French, to every person he passed. When Julian finally called with an answer, Noel had forgotten he was waiting for anything at all. Julian laughed too enthusiastically at Noel’s admittance – he was probably still drunk on adrenalin – and told him to bring some French wine back for toasting. Noel was on a flight home the next morning.

The phone rings. Noel almost falls off the couch in anticipation before reminding himself that this phone rings constantly, all day, every day. He checks the phone’s screen before answering. He’s gotten used to doing that these days, with all the phone calls he gets – it’s not always wise to answer them all. He has a bad habit of handing out his number to anyone who asks for it, particularly after a few drinks. He’s yet to learn to curb this behaviour, and sometimes wonders what will finally teach him once and for all.

This number that’s currently displayed is one that he knows, with a name and a photo cropping up next to it. It’s not the number, name and photo that he wants it to be, but neither have any of the last fifty-seven calls, either, so he’s getting used to accepting it. No, that’s a lie, he’s not, but the palpitations that come with each new ring might kill him before the right number does call.

“Anna, hi.”

“Noel, Jonathan Ross wants you boys back on the show for a chat.”

“Oh? Yeah, great, sure. For what, though? The DVD? We’ve got a couple of months for that yet, don’t we? I might be on Mars by February. Julian might have had his sex change. Wossy might have to call him Margaret. I might have adopted an Ethiopian child. I’ll want to bring my Ethiopian child with me.”

“Are you done?”

“For now, yes. I think so. Keep talking, we’ll see.”

“He wants you on tomorrow night, airing on Friday.”

“He _what_?”

“I know, I know. They’re _really_ sorry but they’ve had a cancellation and you know how highly he thinks of you – any excuse will do, for him.”

“I know he wants to bum _me_ silly, but what about J—”

“I’ve already spoken to Julian, he’s fine with it.”

“He is?”

“Yes, he’s happy to do it.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, Noel, he is.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t put him through a lie detector, but he seemed fine with it.”

“I want to check with him, first. Is that – do you mind? I just want to check with him.”

“Go ahead. They need to hear back as soon as humanly possible, can you do it quickly? Can you let me know by three?”

“Julian is a man of many words, I’m not sure he’ll be able to fit them all in by three.”

“I’m just going to call the BBC and tell them that it’s fine. I’ll arrange the car.”

“Can we bring Mike?”

“Is he your Ethiopian child?”

“No, he’s my dirty Mexican child.”

“I’ll check, but I’m sure they won’t have a problem with it. I understand it to be a good bit of bonus promo for the show and you’ll be doing _them_ a favour, filling in like this, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“What about Dave?”

“Okay, Dave too.”

“And if Rich isn’t invited he’ll chuck a spazz.”

“Yes, alright, Rich too.”

“I’ll tell them that they have to come in costume.”

“They probably don’t _have_ to wear their costumes.”

“I know, but I want to tell them that they have to, because I’d enjoy that.”

“Fine, Noel. I’ll—”

“Yeah, yeah. You call the Beeb, I’ll call the Barratt.”

“Get back to me by three.”

“Out of interest, who’re we filling in for?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Fuck off.” He pauses, but Anna won’t fill in the blanks. “Who is it? Should I guess?”

“You won’t like it.”

“It’s fucking Little Britain, isn’t it? It’s Walliams and Lucas, isn’t it?”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“I feel a bit sick.”

“Three o’clock, okay? Because I’m calling them anyway, and if it turns out by some kind of freak accident that I misconstrued Julian’s words and what I thought was a laid-back agreement was in fact a downright refusal, I need to know by three to get you out of it.”

“Yeah, I just need to make sure. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah, okay. Make sure. Three o’clock, Noel! I mean it.”

“If you don’t let me hang up soon, I’m taking my phone into the bathroom with me and you’ll have to put up with the sound of me urinating as we discuss this further.”

“That’s far more information than I needed.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve had seven cups of tea and I’m just about to wet myself. That’s how important you are to me. I’m holding on for you. But if I hold for much longer, I’ll get a bladder infection. And I probably won’t want to sit through a Wossy interview with a bladder infection.”

“Three o’clock.”

“Right, yeah.”

The other end clicks and goes silent. Noel trots down the hall to the bathroom, dropping his phone onto the edge of the bathroom sink before undoing his fly and going about his business. He’s got about twenty minutes in which to call Julian. He tries to go through what exactly he’ll say, just how much time he can leave before he calls. It’s frustrating to have set up a fairly solid play, only to have to break it after he’s already put so much effort into waiting it out.

The frustrating thing is that Noel genuinely wants to confirm that Julian is okay with appearing on Ross’s show again. Despite the fact that the last time was about a year ago, Julian still uses it as a prime example of why Noel should do their publicity appearances alone. He always exaggerates it, sometimes to ridiculous levels (“He threw a pumpkin at my head – it was rotten, so it was fairly soft, but it was still a pumpkin.”) but there’s an element of truth to his argument that neither of them have forgotten.

Short and to the point but with a touch of friendly concern, he thinks. That’ll be the way to play it.

The phone rings. Noel reaches over with his free hand to pick it up, and it’s Julian. Without hesitating, he answers.

“Julian.”

“Hey, Noel.”

“Hey. How are you?”

“I’m good, yeah. Are you… Fielding, are you _pissing_?”

“Oh, shit.” He stifles a laugh. “I didn’t – can I call you back?”

Julian grunts in reply a moment before the line goes dead. Noel drops the phone back onto the sink, shoving his free hand into his mouth and biting down on his fingers to muffle his slightly crazed laughter. He finishes up and washes his hands, pulling a face at himself in the bathroom mirror before trotting back down the hallway, punching Julian’s number into the keypad on his phone. He has his multiple contact numbers for Julian saved in his phone’s address book, and he’s number four on his speed dial, but pressing each number key will take up the most amount of time.

Noel drops down into the armchair as the first ring sounds. He hangs up quickly and leaps back onto his feet, turning Freddie Mercury’s staring eyes away from him before sitting back down. His phone rings. It’s Julian again.

“Hey!”

“Did you just call and hang up?”

“What? Oh, yeah.”

“Should I ask why?”

“Freddie Mercury was staring at me. I could tell it was going to get awkward.”

“If he’s still there, tell him I loved his work on Seven Seas of Rhye.”

“Hang on.” Noel pauses for one second, for two, for three. “He says he was pretty chuffed with it, too, but the rest of the boys thought it should just be an album track. He had to really fight to get it out as a single.”

“Tell him I know how that feels.”

“Sorry, he’s stepped outside for a fag. It’s just you and me, now.”

“Oh, right. So… Jonathan Ross.”

“Yeah. You alright with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ju… don’t pretend like you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Noel waits for a quick retort, but Julian is slow to defend himself. There’s the sound of a breath let out gradually and he waits, patient and quiet.

“I’ve – yeah, look, I don’t have a problem with it. I’ve done alright this round, haven’t I?”

“You have, yeah. You’ve been really good. You’ve left me behind sometimes, even.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m not! I’m not having you on. You’ve been unexpectedly hilarious. It’s very off-putting.”

The conversation moves past stilted and into comfortable chatter, and Noel leans forward to turn the Freddie Mercury canvas back around to face him. He picks up a paintbrush and dips it in a well of black paint, touching it to the canvas as they talk.

“That’s my style, you know. I’m like a bear in a tutu. You’re upset, you’re walking through the woods and lamenting your life and then there’s a clearing and there’s a bear wearing a tutu. You don’t want to laugh, you’re unprepared for laughter but it’s on you. It’s in you. I’m like a bear in a tutu.”

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It wasn’t very funny.”

“It wasn’t funny at all, Julian. But had it have been, I would have been expecting it, so in a way you’re proving yourself right.”

“What’re you up to?”

It hangs in the air, a kite caught in the wind. Noel’s sure that he isn’t meant to hear the change in Julian’s breathing.

“Nothing, really. Just… you know. Doing some painting. Trying to do some painting.”

“Talking to Freddie Mercury.”

“Yeah, he’s quite the chatterbox.”

“I’ll bet he’s got some good tales.”

“He’d been quiet for a while, you know. He’s got a lot of things to say. He’s more about social commentary. He’s not at all impressed with the Scissor Sisters, for a start.”

“Is anybody?”

A faint wail breaks into the conversation and plummets down the line to smack Noel in the face. He’s immediately silenced. Julian clears his throat.

“I’m not sure if that’s in woeful agreement or outrage,” he offers weakly. Noel emits a soft noise in response, but he’s not sure how Julian’s going to translate it because even he has no idea.

“I’ve got to go,” Julian says.

“Anna’s organising a car for tomorrow night.”

“Yes, yeah, I’m aware of that. I’ll see you in the car, then?”

“Yeah, alright. See you.”

As he places the phone in his pocket, angling his hip up from the armchair’s cushion to slide it in, Noel focuses on the canvas in front of him. There are bats all around Freddie Mercury’s head, faint outlines of black bats skidding around in the air. He furrows his brow at them as he scratches at his forearm idly with the wooden end of his paintbrush. He’ll give them bright outlines, he thinks. Freddie will be happy with that. He’ll give the bats bright purple outlines and he’ll give Julian thirty hours or so, and that should be enough. Enough for what, he’s unsure, but he’s hoping he’ll find out soon.

 

———————

 

“Here’s the thing, though. No, everyone listen, this is really important. EVERYONE LISTEN.”

Waving his half-finished girly drink in the air, Noel commands the attention of the room. Finished with the Jonathan Ross filming, the lads are unofficially breaking in Dave’s new place, and unpacked boxes are still lingering in corners. Mike is using one as a stool. Rich is lying on the floor.

“What thing? What thing?” Dave stands in the doorway. “Do you need another drink, Noel?”

“No! I haven’t said it yet, I’m getting to it, it’s my next topic of conversation. It’s enlightening, you’ll love it.”

Rich mumbles up at him from the floor. “Are you going to tell me it? Maybe you should tell me the thing. Just whisper it to me, I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, it’s for everyone, Richard. I’m going to tell everyone the thing, hang on.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing about the thing.” Julian nurses his glass of beer against his chest on the couch. He looks close to sleep.

“I’ve… it’s gone. I’ve forgotten it. Great, I’ve lost the thing.”

“CHRISTY! Get it back!” Rich is very insistent but looks a bit like a beached whale, floundering on the floorboards.

“I can’t! Oh, Christy, it’s gone! You’ve ruined it, Christy.”

“Oh, Richard!” Dave picks up a handful of scrunched up packing paper from the floor and throws it at Rich, but it’s too light to gain much momentum and falls far short of him.

“I’m always to blame. My feelings! What about my feelings! I need – somebody get the American Embassy on the phone. I want to talk about my rights.”

“Nobody’s going to help you, Fulcher.”

Julian barks it out, laughing quietly as Noel slumps against him. He finishes what’s left of the pink concoction in his glass and leans over Julian to put the glass down on the coffee table, out of harm’s way. Rich moans in mock agony and rolls around on the ground but Noel can’t focus on him because Julian’s hand comes up and runs through his hair, resting against the back of his head, as comfortable and natural as breathing. Noel is glad of Rich pulling focus, because it affords him enough time to pause against Julian, to hold onto the moment. His eyelids flutter closed and he swallows air before Julian snatches his hand back. When Noel sits upright again and glances at Julian, he is furrow-browed and rubbing his hands together, twisting them around, over and over.

“I’m stepping out for a cigarette,” he announces suddenly, getting to his feet. Nobody really acknowledges it because Rich is carrying on about being a hostage in a foreign country as Mike and Dave discuss possible torture techniques a bit too loudly. Noel waits only half a beat longer than it takes Julian to leave the room, and then gets to his feet.

“I’m just – I’m getting a – oh, whatever.”

Nobody’s listening, anyway. He trips down the hallway, following invisible footsteps. The front door is left open a crack and he slips out, careful not to let it shut behind him because he’s been locked out of places before and that’s awkward, but mostly because he doesn’t want to have to bang the door down after being out here with Julian.

Out here, with Julian. With the greatest care, Noel pulls the door almost shut, holding his breath and hoping not to hear the telltale click of the lock catching. There’s silence, so he takes that as a good sign. He turns slowly in the darkness, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light that the street lamps cast. It’s cold outside without a coat, even with the helpful amount of alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, and he crosses his arms over his chest, rubbing his hands warmly over his upper arms.

Julian stands facing the road, one hand tucked in his warm-looking jacket pocket, the other dragging a cigarette from his lips as his arm hovers in the air. Noel smokes sometimes for the sociality of it; he smokes because he wants to. Julian smokes because he needs to. Noel’s watched him try to quit a few times over the years. His biggest effort was roughly a year ago, when Julia came out with the news.

Julian had tried to quit a few things, then.

Noel takes short steps to Julian’s side, catching a glimpse of his face in the street light. His cheeks are ruddy from the alcohol. It doesn’t happen to Noel’s pale skin but Julian’s cheeks give him away every time. Noel can’t stop himself from staring. He crosses his arms over his chest to refrain from reaching out and touching the flushed skin.

“Remember when you tried to give up?”

Julian laughs and ducks his chin in embarrassment. “Which time?”

“The last time.”

“What, when Julia got—”

“Yeah, that one.”

Noel glances almost shyly at Julian, running through memories in his head. Everything’s funny after a few drinks. That was a funny time. It’s all funny. He eases himself down to sit on the edge of the gutter next to Julian’s feet, arms stretched out in front of him, hands clasped. He watches his fingers steadily as he tells his stories.

“Remember how you tried to get me to carry your tobacco around?”

All he gets in reply is a non-committal grunt. Julian probably can’t remember where the story goes. Noel, however, can’t forget.

“You told me to only let you at it if you looked like you were about to pass out.”

“Yeah, but then you’d bloody take it out with you and all your mates would smoke it.”

“They went around calling themselves the Barratt Anti-Smoking Campaign on those nights, that was hilarious.”

“Ah, that’s right, the BAS. Clearly only looking after my best interests.”

“What did you call them? You called them something different, didn’t you?”

“The Bullshit Artists Suckjob Campaign.”

“Oh, yeah!” Noel lets out a squawk of a laugh and listens to it bouncing off the houses across the road. “ _You_ were the one who kept buying the packets and handing them over to me, you idiot.”

Noel sits in the silence for a few minutes, listening to the muted sounds of Julian’s lips and fingers, the awkward shuffle of his feet as he occasionally comes off balance for a moment. The other man eventually gives in and crouches down in the gutter next to Noel, keeping only a fracture of space between them. He holds the cigarette out. Noel shrugs and slips it from his fingers, takes a drag, hands it back. With his mouth suddenly tasting like an ashtray, he wishes he’d brought a drink out with him.

Back when Julian had tried to quit, that last time, he would painstakingly hand-roll a cigarette, handing it to Noel when it was ready to light. Noel would smoke it slowly as Julian sat in front of him, watching the curve of his lips, the way his fingers gripped it. He tried to teach Noel to blow smoke rings, but Noel didn’t have the patience. With every exhalation of Noel’s, Julian would breathe in deeply. When he was finished, Noel would pass the stub of the cigarette back to Julian for him to ash it out. The task completed, Julian would lean in, hands on Noel’s knees, and slide his tongue into Noel’s mouth so he could savour the taste of it. Once he was too hasty, kissing Noel before stubbing the cigarette out, and he swore when it burnt his fingers, biting down on Noel’s lip.

“Remember how you’d get the tobacco pouch off me?”

“Of course. I’d stick my hand down your pants and you’d give in. You’ve always been easy, Fielding.”

“Except that most of the time, the pouch would be almost empty.”

“I’d get so bloody furious.”

“Shove off, you’d always manage to get at least one out of it.”

“But you’d get nothing in return.”

“Yeah, that’s when I realised I should stop taking it out with me. It wasn’t worth sacrificing a hand job just so that my mates could have a couple of poorly rolled smokes.”

Noel sneaks a glance at Julian and he’s leaning forward over the gutter, his shoulders shaking faintly. Tensing up, Noel worries for a moment that he’s gotten to Julian somehow, that something’s happened, that he’s broken. But he raises his head and he’s laughing, and so then Noel’s laughing, and everything’s fine. Noel leans against Julian, feels the faint pressure of Julian leaning back against him. Everything’s fine.

“Remember that time you broke?”

“Hmm?”

Noel remembers laughing at Julian’s lack of resolve the first time his willpower had taken a serious beating. He remembers laughing even as Julian had bent him over the couch in the office, gritted his teeth and slammed the laughter out of him with surprisingly sharp hipbones, punctuating the event with two cigarettes – the second one lit only moments after the first was stubbed out.

“Don’t act clueless, Barratt, I thought you were going to kill me.”

“What? Were you withholding particularly strongly, or something?”

“No, when you broke. When you shoved me over the arm of the couch. You fucked me and then had a couple of cigarettes right after.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , yes. Right. Yes. No, I – I’d forgotten. Yes, that. Hah.”

Noel forgets a lot of things, but that memory is one that he couldn’t erase if he tried. He wonders if Julian is lying. Julian’s memory has always been better than his; they’ve tried and tested this theory many times over the years.

Julian lets out a huff. Noel watches him as he drops his cigarette butt in the gutter and twists the toe of his boot over it. With a grunt of effort, Julian gets to his feet and brushes his hands off on his jeans, then holds a hand out to help Noel up. Noel takes it, keeping hold of Julian’s hand once he’s upright.

“I think I need another drink.”

“I do remember it.”

“What?”

“I remember it. I remember breaking.”

Noel realises that Julian is gripping Noel’s hand in return. Their eyes meet and though the light is bad, Noel catches a look in Julian’s eyes and his stomach twists over.

“Oh, you do?”

“I think I just pretend to forget, sometimes. Life, you know. Life, the universe.”

“Everything, yeah. I know.”

“I’d like to fuck you again, though.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said.”

Julian releases his grip on Noel’s hand and heads for the front door but Noel hasn’t let go of Julian’s hand just yet. He trips along behind Julian and grabs a handful of his cardigan in his free hand, clinging onto him as Julian’s fingers find the door handle.

“You can’t just – don’t just leave that dangling!”

He’s horrified at the whine in his voice but there’s nothing else to be done. Julian doesn’t turn around but looks over his shoulder and Noel thinks that the look in his eyes might pierce right through him.

“Is anyone home tonight?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know, I can’t – let me make a couple of calls.”

“I’ll see you inside, then.”

“Okay… yeah. Fuck. Julian—”

The taller man turns and grins wolfishly at him, cutting him off without speaking a word. He raises a hand to Noel’s head and grabs a handful of his hair, standing there for a moment in silence, fingers fiddling through the strands. Noel can barely bring himself to look at Julian but then he turns away, the door opens and he disappears behind it. Noel holds his hand out to stop it from closing completely, then fishes his mobile phone out of his pocket, scrolling through to Dee’s number. It answers after four rings and Noel can hear a faint bass line in the background.

“Dee, hey, are you—”

“She’s in the bathroom, Noel. Hello!”

“Mel?”

“It’s Sue, you berkface.”

“Oh, hey. She’s – oh, are you guys rehearsing?”

“Just at my place, yeah, I guess you could call it that. More like tooling around, checking over some recordings a bit. Oh, look, to be completely honest, we’re mostly just drinking at the moment.”

“At your place?”

“Yeah.”

“Your place in Berlin?”

“ _Yes_ , Noel. She’s been here for a couple of days already, did that escape you?”

“No, I just – No, I remember. I was just… I thought I’d say hi.”

“Are you shitfaced?”

“Nah, I’ve… a bit, I’ve had a few.”

“Aw, and you miss your lady friend. Want me to give her a tonguing for you?”

“Hilarious.”

“I’ll tell her you called, yeah?”

“Just to say hi, she doesn’t need to call me back. If you’re busy.”

“I’ll tell her. Bye, Noel. Remember, don’t take drinks from blonde, big-breasted strangers, no matter how short and unassuming they seem to be.”

“But that makes things more exciting.”

“Don’t make me tell on you.”

“Come off it, you love telling on me.”

Noel hangs up on Sue’s bubble-drunk giggles and slips his phone back into his pocket with a slow, shaky smile finding its way onto his lips. He heads inside again, shutting the front door behind him properly and walks back down into the lounge room, taking a proffered drink from Dave and laughing when he sees that Rich is still on the floor, this time doing something that looks like a landlocked version of water aerobics or synchronised swimming. Rich’s eyes lazily catch Noel’s figure in the doorway as he sips his drink.

“NOELY! COME TO ME, NOELY!”

“I’m not even touching you with a stick. Maybe an empty box, though – or a dead rat.”

Mike is giggling into his phone, curled up on the couch. Dave stands in the doorway with Noel, raising an alarmed eyebrow at Rich’s antics. Sometimes Rich confuses everyone, but that's where his humour comes from, some spastic place that Rich knows well and everyone else is usually too afraid to venture into. Julian is back in an armchair, already halfway through a fresh beer. They lock eyes; Noel nods his head once, briefly. Julian grins around the mouth of his beer bottle as he takes another swig.

“I think I’m off,” Noel murmurs.

Dave turns his head. “Oh, yeah? I can call a taxi, if you like.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember your fucking address, you do it.”

Dave laughs and pulls his phone out, taking a step backwards into the hallway to make the call. Noel walks over to where Julian’s sat and perches lightly on the arm of the chair, swallowing a mouthful of drink and wondering what exactly it is that Dave’s mixed up for him this time. Rich starts bellowing out his own special form of opera. Noel winces, Mike throws a “SHUT IT, YOU CUNT!” at Rich and curls further into himself, covering his free ear with his hand so he can still hear whoever’s on the other end of the phone call he’s on. Julian reaches behind himself, digs out a cushion, pegs it at Rich’s head.

“Ow, my pancreatic… lymph… nodules… I NEED SURGERY!”

“Somebody get him another drink,” Julian mutters.

Noel laughs to punctuate the moment, though the laugh stutters out as Julian’s hand comes to rest lightly but firmly against the small of his back. Julian’s voice rumbles and reverberates up his spine as he calls back over his shoulder for Dave to fetch him a taxi, too, and Dave’s head pops into the doorway to nod in response, changing his tone to an apologetic one as he asks nicely for a second car. Noel almost calls out for him not to bother, that they’ll just take the one car, that he wants to fall asleep against Julian’s shoulder in the back seat, but he knows the game. Sometimes he just gets sick of playing it so well.

Soon enough, there’s the sound of an engine throttling out on the street, that old familiar clunking-over sound that only taxis seem to be able to make. A horn beeps and Noel gets to his feet, throwing the rest of his drink down his throat and lining the glass up with his last empty one on the coffee table.

“Julian,” he says loudly, so the room can and will hear it, “are you sure you don’t want to take this one?”

Leaning further into the armchair, Julian fixes him with an even gaze and waves his hand, the hand that only a few minutes ago was resting discreetly against Noel’s back.

“Go ahead,” he says, beer bottle poised in front of his mouth. “I haven’t finished my drink.”

Noel watches him lift the drink to his lips and swallow. He swallows in response as Julian watches him for a moment longer, and then his focus is elsewhere. Noel grins to the room in general, mimes kicking Rich in the stomach (much to Rich’s overenthusiastic howls of pain and protest), then says his goodbyes. There are mentions of art shows and DVD commentaries, of DJ nights in Kilburn and random alcoholic gatherings, and then Noel is sliding his arms into his coat, ignoring Rich’s comic screeches that follow and continue to bounce off the back of the door as he closes it behind him.

The taxi is warm when he slides into the back seat and he’s grateful because the night air is nippy. He winds the window down just a crack to let the cold air gust into his face. The ride home is uneventful but anticipation sits, curled up in the pit of his stomach like a small creature waiting for a forest rave, slowly applying streaks of war paint. Noel fiddles with the cuffs of his coat and wills the car to burst through light speed.

He pays the driver and crawls out of the car, almost tripping over in his urgency. Noel leaves the front door unlocked, almost falling up the stairs after shrugging out of his coat. His head is swimming as he pulls his shirt off, dropping it in the corner of the room, with his jeans and pants following soon after. He presses play on the stereo and then drops down onto the bed, squirming under the blankets and resting his head on a pillow. Julian can’t be too far behind, surely. He focuses in on the song that’s playing on the stereo, mouthing along silently with the words.

 

———————

 

Deep in sleep, Noel dances through the jungle. The creatures do nothing but peer out with big round eyes from dark places, so he dances with the moon, intricate hands and delicate feet and a white glow all working together. It’s as though his blood is made of moonbeams and his clothes are made of constellations.

Bare feet trip over smooth flat stones that shimmer as though made of silver. Each step is cool to the touch and he quickly lifts his feet, one after the other, as he twists and turns. No tangled, gnarled root will wrap around his ankle, no skittish vole will cross his path to trip him up. Tonight he is free to dance, to swim through the air on feet of feathers and feel no tendrils of fire or chill of ice.

He is followed closely by a shadow that moves in harmony with him but does not belong to him entirely. Sometimes, not this time but some other times, he is confused, because he knows the shadow’s every cut and curve. He knows it thick and thin but still it is not him. The shadow follows him as though it were his own, but he knows that one day he will have to turn and catch it, and he knows on that day it will be nothing like him.

For now, though – for now he dances with the shadow and the moon, and nothing will falter his steps.


	4. What's Not In Between, Part Four.

The blue haze of dawn peeks through a crack between the heavy black curtain and the windowsill. Noel stretches his arm out over the bed, letting his wrist drop over the edge of the mattress. He feels like he is underwater as he slides up into a sitting position, bubbles rippling from his gills. Slow and naked, he walks to the window and pulls the curtain back, letting the light spill into the room, and then he turns and crawls back into bed.

There is a shadow sleeping next to him. Sitting up in bed, he reaches over to touch it. It dissolves, it disappears and it leaves a slumbering bear lying in its wake. The bear stirs, blinks up at Noel and rolls onto its back, stretching one arm above its head and yawning lazily. It is wearing the clothes that Julian was wearing the night before; the puzzle pieces come together as Noel approaches something more resembling consciousness.

With a slow, sleepy grin, Noel shifts back down, aligning himself with Julian’s side and resting his cheek on Julian’s crooked arm. Julian shifts, turning in just slightly. It’s enough to invite Noel in, and he snakes an arm over Julian’s chest, focusing carefully on his fingers as he plays with the top button of his shirt. He slips the button free of its hold, undoes the second one down, too. He’s working on the third when Julian nudges his nose against Noel’s forehead. Noel raises his head and meets Julian’s lips, and what he tastes almost scares him. Julian is here, here and now, now and real. He forgets every time just how overpowering it is to have this.

Julian’s lips are warm, still sleep-slack and fumbling. Noel dares to peek an eye open to take it all in, to hold a picture of this moment in his mind. When he does, he realises that Julian is kissing him with his eyes open, staring him right in the face. Noel pulls back with flushed cheeks and feels foolish for catching him out.

“Morning breath,” Noel says, belatedly screwing his nose up.

“You’ve had worse.”

“You keep tabs?”

Julian doesn’t give him an answer in words, just raises an eyebrow. Noel rolls over and fiddles through the bedside table drawer, looking for something. He retrieves a small brown paper bag and digs into the top of it, pulling out a red liquorice bootlace string and tucking the end of it into his mouth before rolling back over with a lazy grin, chewing on it. Julian is sitting up, shrugging out of his shirt. Noel can see the laugh in his eyes before it wells out of his mouth.

He finishes eating the liquorice just as Julian lies back down and rolls over to him, one jeans-clad knee under the blanket finding its way in between Noel’s bare thighs, his arms coming to rest either side of Noel’s head. Julian leans down to kiss him and he parts his lips to let Julian’s tongue intrude, shivering as it slides against the roof of his mouth. Julian starts laughing again.

“ _What_?”

“You taste like seven years ago.”

“I do?”

“The sweets. You taste like blond highlights and weak tea. You taste like the radio studio.”

“I’m confused. Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know. Just nostalgic, I suppose.”

“What else do I taste like?”

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. Eggshells, guitar strings. Coloured crayons.”

“Sounds a bit ridiculous. Are you sure? You should make sure.”

Julian grins as he ducks down again. Noel wriggles up onto his elbows, meeting Julian halfway and savouring the feel of chest against chest, skin against skin. He pushes himself up harder against Julian, leaning his weight onto one elbow so he’s free to run his fingers down Julian’s ribs, grinning against Julian’s lips as he tries to angle away from the ticklish touch.

He dares to sketch those same fingers up Julian’s back, raking them lightly back down over his spine. Julian pushes ever further against him in response, moaning softly into Noel’s mouth, and it’s such a delicious moment that Noel can’t help repeating the cause of it, just to see if it’ll elicit the same reaction again. Much to his delight, it does; he can’t stop himself thinking of the various ways he could try turning Julian into a quivering mess and he grins again, pushing back into the mattress and snaking his hand in between the two of them to fumble at the front of Julian’s jeans.

But then Julian is moving away, pushing up off him, taking that tantalising heat away. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, following Julian’s path with his eyes.

“Hey, where are you going?”

He hopes that he doesn’t sound pathetic, just inquisitive, despite the fact that he already feels a pitiable longing in his gut and Julian hasn’t even left the room. Julian’s features are fuzzy in the soft morning light as he moves around on the bed.

“Come on, come back up here,” Noel says.

Julian reaches up and peels the blanket back from where it lies pooled around Noel’s waist, shoving it down to the end of the bed. He crawls in between Noel’s legs and settles himself down on his stomach, resting his arms over Noel’s bare thighs and rubbing his thumbs against the skin over Noel’s hipbones.

“Oh… right,” Noel says.

Julian ducks his head down and his moustache tickles Noel’s thigh. Noel squirms, his elbows shoving hard against the mattress. He bites his bottom lip even harder as Julian’s hands grip his hips. He can’t see Julian’s face but he can hear his quiet chuckling, he can feel the huffs of his breaths against his skin. He squirms again, finding it impossible not to move despite the fact that he feels sluggish and cumbersome, stuck somewhere between dreaming and waking.

Julian’s weight presses heavily against Noel’s thighs as he slowly rakes his tongue up the length of Noel’s cock. Too slowly, teasingly slowly, painfully slowly.

“Nnngh,” Noel says.

He drops his head back and closes his eyes because the sight of Julian between his legs, doing what he’s doing, is too much to take in. He needs to focus on one sense at a time, and it’s touch that seems to be screaming for him. Julian’s tongue moves at an agonising pace; Noel rationalises that touch is a mutual thing and leans onto one elbow with his eyes still shut, reaching his hand down towards his cock and knowing he’ll find Julian’s hair to card his fingers through.

He rests his hand lightly against the back of Julian’s head as it moves, as Julian takes Noel’s cock in his mouth, as Noel groans lowly, his hips jerking up of their own accord, stopped from choking Julian by the weight of the man’s arms over his thighs. Just as Noel’s breathing begins to quicken, Julian’s mouth is gone. His weight shifts off Noel’s body and Noel raises his head, slack jawed and wanting. Julian is kneeling, still between Noel’s legs, looking down at him with a burning in his eyes. If Noel’s cheeks aren’t flushed already from the attention, this will quickly do him in.

“You didn’t have to do that to get me hard, you know.”

“I know, you slut.”

Julian tosses the word out with a grin splitting his lips, baring those teeth of his, and Noel knows it’s all in jest. There are words that Julian can and will not say, and falling back on joking is easier. He watches, a voyeur, as Julian undoes his jeans, his eyes still roving over Noel’s naked frame. Noel pushes himself up into a sitting position and wriggles down the bed until he is tucked in close to Julian, breathing against his skin. He runs his fingers up the backs of Julian’s legs and tugs the waistband of his jeans down, dragging his pants down with them and leaning in to press a kiss to his hipbone.

“I’ve missed you,” Julian says, his fingers running through Noel’s hair before coming to rest on his shoulders.

“I’ve been waiting,” Noel replies. Because it is always Julian that runs away, it is always Julian that comes back, and it is always Noel that waits patiently for that moment. For all his parties, for all his fame-hungry five-minute friends, for all that could be assumed about Noel – these things happen on Julian’s terms, and Noel is always waiting. Sometimes when the in betweens stretch out for too long, Noel worries that he will be waiting forever. Sometimes Noel worries that he _would_ wait forever. It’s best not to think about it, but that is always easier said than done and sometimes there is nothing else left to think about and he can’t help himself.

“I’d very much like to, if that’s alright.”

Noel is dragged back into the present, into the dim blue-toned morning light where Julian towers above him, hands resting lightly but firmly on his shoulders. He glances up and Julian’s eyes are focused on some point around his eyebrow, not quite meeting his eyes. A slow, cheeky smirk slides across Noel’s lips.

“Like to… like to what, Julian?”

Julian covers his face with his hand, not before Noel sees the fierce reddening of his cheeks.

“Your pants are around your knees, and you still feel the need to – are you propositioning me? Am I right?”

“I was just…” There are things that Julian can and will not say.

“I liked it better the way it was delivered last night.”

Julian’s hand slides down from covering his eyes and ends up resting against his chin. “Right.”

“Go on.”

“I can’t remember my exact phrasing. There was alcohol involved.” His hand flaps around in the air, waving awkward circles, grasping at nothing in particular.

“Not in the phrasing, there wasn’t.”

“Behind the phrasing, Fielding. Fuelling the phrasing.”

“But now the alcohol’s gone.”

“Yes.” The hand stills, dropping to his side.

“Are you sure you still have the same intentions, then?”

“I’d still like to fuck you, yes.”

“ _There_ you go.”

Noel’s teasing, of course, but the words still hit him in the gut, make his cock twitch, make him seek out Julian’s touch, his skin, something to anchor him to this and make it a real moment. One of Julian’s hands still rests on his shoulder; he reaches for it and turns it over, exposing Julian’s palm. With feather-light kisses he makes his way up Julian’s forearm, stopping when he can crane his neck no further.

But it’s alright, because then Julian is crawling down over him, collapsing against him and pushing him back into the mattress. Noel wriggles up over the bed again and rests on his back, hands reaching up to rest on Julian’s neck and pull him down for a crushing kiss. Julian hesitates to kiss back at first, shifting around against him awkwardly, and Noel wonders what the hell’s going on until he feels Julian’s jeans get toed off somewhere near his ankles.

There is so much to say without talking. Julian’s tongue slips into his mouth and it’s all that he needs and yet nowhere near enough. He draws his knees up against Julian’s waist as the heat of Julian’s cock presses into his hip. There is static in the air; glancing over Julian’s shoulder, Noel sees shadows dancing on the ceiling. Julian kisses his neck, stubble grazing against his jaw as he raises his head again.

“Turn over?”

“I want to look at you, I don’t want to take my eyes off you.” Noel worries for a moment that his intensity will be too much for this, but Julian fixes him with a stare that could cut right through him, and Noel remembers that intensity is a driving factor in all this. Intensity and alcohol and double-acts and eating boundaries, and something they’ll never dare to define, or it might break them forever.

A smirk forms on Noel’s lips as he thinks about spitting out some kind of comment about age, about boring old missionary bumming. He doesn’t get a chance to do it before Julian rolls over onto his back and grabs Noel’s arm to encourage him to follow. Noel throws a leg over, knees either side of Julian’s waist, hands resting lightly on Julian’s stomach as he barks out a laugh – if he _had_ mentioned it, he’d have put this move down to being driven by his words entirely, but it’s nice to know the old man’s still up for something more interesting.

Then again, he’ll take what he can get.

“Second drawer,” he murmurs, nodding his head toward the bedside table. Julian pushes up onto one elbow and pulls the drawer out, finding the bottle of lubricant and meticulously nudging the drawer shut again with the back of his hand. As Julian pops the cap and coats his fingers, Noel leans forward and walks his hands down either side of Julian against the mattress until he is resting lightly on top of him. Noel nips at Julian’s bottom lip, but he is distracted; the heel of his hand shakes faintly as it traces down Noel’s side towards his arse.

“Go on, it’s like riding a bike.”

Julian looks mildly horrified. “Is that really necessary, Fielding?”

“No, but it’s worth it, just for your face right now.” He lets out a sigh of mock irritation. “Will you just get them up me, please?”

Julian’s look of horror dissolves as he squeezes his eyes shut tight, laughter lines cracking his face as he bursts out with a grin. “You are impropriety personified.”

“No,” Noel replies, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “I’m just real. Go on.”

His tongue curves around the shell of Julian’s ear but then there are thick, blunt fingers angling their way inside him and he huffs out a heavy breath, pressing his forehead against Julian’s temple and swallowing heavily. The angle is too awkward for Julian to do an efficient job of it himself, so after a moment of focusing, he pushes his weight into his hands and rocks his hips back against Julian’s fingers. Julian’s still got his eyes closed and he would grin at that, maybe even laugh, if he wasn’t so taken up with his task, lips parted for each shallow breath to ghost out.

Julian’s eyes stay closed even as Noel shifts up off his fingers, reaching behind himself for Julian’s cock, resting his chin on his shoulder to try and see what he’s doing. He shifts around awkwardly until he has it ready, biting down on his bottom lip in anticipation. Glancing back down at Julian’s face, he furrows his brow.

“Open your eyes, Julian.”

Julian takes one slow, steadying breath, and does what he’s told.

As Noel eases himself down, feeling Julian’s cock pushing in against him and trying not to tense up, Julian brings his knees up, resting his feet firmly against the mattress. Julian’s broad hands slink up Noel’s thighs and clutch at his arse. Noel sinks down slowly, choking back a breath as he pushes himself down. He lets out a heavy breath of relief for the moment he can push down no further, trapping Julian’s hands underneath him. He glances around his side to see the view, and then, pleased with that, locks eyes with Julian as he leans forward, walking his hands down Julian’s sides again and stopping near the top of his ribs.

He slides his body up, unable to really focus on anything but the shift of Julian’s cock inside him. Sliding back down just as slowly, he watches as Julian’s eyelids flutter.

“Don’t close them,” he stutters out.

Julian shakes his head in response, then groans lowly as Noel repeats his slow, fluid movements. “Christ, Noel…”

He shifts further forward, resting a hand next to Julian’s head so he has something to brace against as he leans down and takes a slow, lingering kiss, rubbing his tongue languorously against Julian’s while he settles into an easy pace. Julian drags skittish fingers up Noel’s ribs and then pushes up from underneath him; Noel thumps down heavily against him, letting out a wanton moan and pressing his forehead to Julian’s collarbone. Picking up the speed of his rocking hips, Noel fists at the sheets next to Julian’s head, hungry for more.

“Ju, touch me.”

He forces the words out between rasping breaths that threaten to pull his lungs apart. Julian looks bewildered, and drums his fingers against Noel’s ribcage. Noel laughs breathily in response and raises his head, only to shake it at Julian.

“No, _touch_ me.”

Noel rests his weight on one hand and grabs at Julian’s hand with the other, bringing it up to his mouth and tugging at Julian’s fingers until they are stretched out flat. Realisation dawns on Julian’s face as Noel runs his tongue over his palm, leaving a thick stripe of saliva in his wake and sucking Julian’s middle finger into his mouth. He bites down gently up near Julian’s knuckle and then tilts his head back, letting his finger drag slowly back out.

For a moment, Julian just traces two wet fingers over Noel’s bottom lip as Noel weakly hangs onto his wrist. Noel whimpers and begins to move faster, pitching back hard against Julian each time. Finally giving in, Julian reaches his hand between them and wraps sure fingers around Noel’s cock. Noel’s forgotten how firm Julian’s grip is; he yelps out and slams back, sinking Julian’s cock in deeply and letting out a breathy sob because there’s absolutely nothing else he can do in response. He wraps his fingers over Julian’s to still them and takes a deep breath to try and calm himself.

“I’m too close, Ju, I want – I want you there, I want you there first.”

“But you asked—”

“I know. I forgot…” His voice stutters out. Julian laughs weakly and loosens his fingers, bringing them to rest on Noel’s hip as he starts back into a gentle rocking pattern. Noel leans down and presses his forehead against Julian’s chest, his nose digging in to his breastbone. Grazing his hand up over a nipple, his voice is only a murmur, yet it cuts through the muted noises they are making, covering up the silence of the early morning.

“You’ll come inside me, yeah?”

Julian chokes out a sob in response and his hips snap up against Noel’s arse. Noel raises his head again with as much of a smirk as he can muster, grabbing at Julian’s hand and bringing it back to wrap the fingers over his cock. Julian jerks his fingers roughly and Noel pitches forward to brace his hands on the mattress, shoving down against Julian until he feels it hit deep inside him, causing his toes to curl. Julian still has his eyes trained obediently on Noel as he comes, breath hitching in his throat each time.

Noel reaches one hand back down to wrap over Julian’s fingers again and encourages him on, but he knows himself, knows he’s close. He arches his back just as Julian slams up against him again and he drops his jaw, leaving faith in Julian to keep it up as he grabs at his shoulder and groans, come streaking his stomach.

He stays frozen in place for a ghost of a moment that stretches out forever, eyes on Julian, Julian watching him, both of them just breathing. This is what heartbreak feels like, Noel thinks, because nobody thinks straight in this moment, this lingering moment at the end of it all when the earth could be crumbling and it wouldn’t matter because all that exists is the here and now of it, and nothing outside this room.

“I can see you thinking.”

Julian breaks the silence, resting his hands on Noel’s wrists and tugging at them gently. Noel goes along with it, slumping forward onto Julian before wrinkling his nose up and dragging the sheet in between them. He shuffles in tight to Julian’s side and buries his face against the man’s shoulder, shameless with the empty feeling that overwhelms him. Julian’s cheek comes to rest against his hair.

“What was it were you thinking?”

“Not sure, it was in Spanish.”

“I’m well Spanish. Try me.”

Noel groans at the awful joke, and then laughs despite himself, letting it die out slowly into quiet giggles. Julian’s breathing slows just as Noel decides to share some of his ridiculous thoughts. He raises his head to find Julian’s eyes closed in sleep, and so resigns himself to the same.

 

———————

 

Noel’s eyes open. The blue tint has left the world. The sun has crept up in the sky and chased it away; it is all yellow.

Julian is standing at the open window, naked and smoking a cigarette. He has his back to Noel, watching the street, watching the world pass by the two of them, quiet and hidden. Noel lies in silence and observes Julian’s slow, steady drags. His brow is free of worried wrinkles. Noel is so used to seeing them line Julian’s forehead these days; for a moment he wonders if this is the past.

Noel’s eyes close.

Noel’s eyes open.

The room is shrouded in darkness. It takes a moment for him to realise that the curtain has been closed. Noises echo down the hallway, kitchen noises, breakfast noises. Julian is whistling. Noel is sure it’s some old jazz tune that Julian’s played for him before, but he can’t put his finger on the title.

This could still be the past, any number of pasts. Noel stopped counting years ago. He thinks about moving, but decides that perhaps more sleep is in order first.

Noel’s eyes close.

Noel’s eyes open.

He drags himself slowly from the bed and down the hallway into the bathroom, tucking his hair into a shower cap before scrubbing up. He uses Dee’s exfoliating gloves on his stomach to get rid of any remaining dried flakes of come. He’ll buy her new ones next time he remembers.

He steps out of the shower and towels down, checks his hair, then wanders naked back into the bedroom to pull on some clothes. He finds Julian reading a newspaper in the lounge room, having found the only couch space left to sit. The rest are covered in paintings and miscellaneous art works, only some of which Noel is happy with. He sits on the arm of the couch; Julian continues reading.

“You’re still here.”

“You’re surprised?”

“Wrong. Pleased.”

“How can you still want this so much, after so many years?”

“I’ll always want you,” Noel says, simple and unassuming.

“That’s nice to hear,” Julian murmurs in response, and it’s neither an agreement nor a denial. If he weren’t so sober, Noel would probably seek out a confirmation. Yes, I’ll always want you, too. No, I won’t always want you, but I do right now, and that’s enough for me. No, I don’t want you at all, I just feel pressured due to the past. No, I don’t want you at all. That’s all there is left.

Oblivious to the mental turmoil occurring next to him, Julian keeps reading. Noel gets back up off the arm of the couch and heads into the kitchen, flicking the kettle’s switch before walking back out into the hallway. He hears the newspaper rustle in the lounge room, and then Julian is striding into the hallway toward him. He pushes Noel back against the wall forcefully and shoves his tongue into Noel’s mouth, and Noel thinks that perhaps he shouldn’t have bothered getting dressed again.

Julian fucks him against the wall, his naked legs around Julian’s waist, his fingers in Julian’s hair. At one point, Julian slams him up against the wall so hard that a hung painting rattles and falls to the floor, the glass front of it shattering. Julian swallows Noel’s heady laughter as their teeth clash.

When they have cleaned up again, Noel makes them both a cup of tea. He introduces Julian to Freddie Greyhound Mercury and various other finished paintings and pieces. Sometimes Julian asks what a piece means to Noel, and sometimes Noel has an answer. Neither of them mentions the painting of Julian, and Noel is grateful, because it has since been painted over.

They kiss goodbye before opening the front door, still hidden. It is comfortable and easy and Noel rests a hand against Julian’s chest and imagines a smooth-stoned path beneath their feet. He hesitates before speaking, ever fearful of sounding like he’s asking for too much.

“See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Two-thirty at the office. Penalties if you’re late.”

Noel grins at Julian’s retreating back and decides that he will be running approximately seven minutes behind the time, just to see if Julian is true to his word.

Once Julian disappears around the corner, Noel heads back upstairs. He puts Kasabian on the stereo and turns the volume up, finishes four pieces he’s been stuck on for days, and drinks three cups of tea. Later, he wanks off in the shower, thinking of the curve of Julian’s thigh. All things considered, it’s a productive day.

 

———————

 

The office is the place for it. The two of them spend days behind the locked door, laughing and talking and fucking and scribbling ideas for things. All that space, all those in betweens, it all feels like nothing at all.

One afternoon in the middle of the week, Noel lies stomach-down on the floor, legs crossed up in the air, wearing nothing but his ridiculous silver boots. Julian is fully clothed and turning the room upside-down, looking for his keys, late for an appointment.

“I can’t miss this, it’s a thousand quid.”

“Just call them and remind them that you’re Julian Barratt.”

“I can’t – voiceover work doesn’t work like that, Noel. It’s just a voice, it’s not me. They don’t care who I am.”

“D’you want me to do it?”

“What, the voiceover?”

“No, idiot, I’ll call them, I’ll tell them you’re Julian Barratt.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Noel does it anyway, safe with the knowledge that Julian’s keys are balled up in Noel’s jacket pocket. Julian hovers over Noel where he lies on the floor and he rolls onto his back with the phone to his ear. When the other end picks up, Noel turns on the charm, dropping his name and mentioning writing and traffic and if they could push it back a few hours, would that cause much of a drama? and the woman gushes and says she’ll check, comes back to him a minute or so later to say that’s fine, the studio’s in use anyway and what would be even better would be a reschedule for 8am the next morning.

Noel accepts and hangs up, then relays it all to Julian, who looks incredulous.

“What – how do you pull that off?”

“It’s my spaceboy boots. They come with incredible powers.”

“If I’d have done that, they’d have just told me not to bother coming in. You’re _sure_ they said it wasn’t a problem?”

“Why do you care so much? It’s just a voiceover. You’re Julian Barratt, you don’t need to do fucking voiceover work.”

“I’ve got a family, Fielding. Families cost money, they can’t just get by on Pot Noodle.”

It’s like a slap in the face, or a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

“Oh… yeah. I forgot,” he murmurs, because he honestly has forgotten, sucked into this self-sufficient vortex they’ve created for themselves.

Noel hates how often he forgets that fact – or any fact, for that matter – during these times of just the two of them. Noel forgets a lot of things in the comings and goings of everyday life. He forgets appointments, phone numbers, addresses, promises. Sometimes life is easier when you forget the facts, but Julian somehow manages to just make him feel stupid for it.

Julian mooches over to the couch and flops onto it, dropping his head back and staring at the ceiling. Noel rolls over and gets onto his hands and knees, crawling over to Julian and settling in between his legs, creeping fingers up over his thighs. Julian’s head snaps up in alarm, but then his eyes soften and he cracks out a burst of laughter.

“I didn’t know what that was, for a moment.”

“What, were you worried about a molesting?”

“I was. I was fearing for my… business.”

“Your junk.”

“My… package. My jewels.”

“Can I take your trousers off? Now that you don’t need to be anywhere.”

Noel traces his fingers along the inner seams of Julian’s trousers as he glances up at Julian through his lashes, a slow smirk on his lips. Julian’s a sucker for the coquettish approach whenever he’s feeling playful and Noel is willing to take advantage of that. Julian’s eyebrows twitch, and that’s certainly not a no. He is quick to unfasten Julian’s trousers, waiting patiently for him to lift his hips before tugging the garment down his thighs. He shuffles back and works Julian’s shoes off his feet, then pulls the trousers right off and drops them in a heap.

“Can I take your pants off?”

“Why don’t I just help you, and get myself naked?”

“Because I enjoy peeling you, like a satsuma.”

“But I _am_ going to end up naked?”

“Yes. A bit, anyway.”

Julian quirks his lips, but obliges Noel by lifting off the couch again just long enough for Noel to drag his pants down his legs and off, ending up on the pile of clothing that Noel is making, the pile of Julian’s outer layers. His inner ones might come later.

Julian shrugs out of his shirt and cardigan before Noel can stop him, and Noel snatches the clothes from him and drops them on the pile as well, shaking his head and trying to look disappointed. He can’t possibly keep it up, though, with Julian now naked on the couch in front of him.

Once he’s content with his efforts, Noel crawls back in between Julian’s legs and licks his index finger before tracing it down the length of Julian’s quickly hardening cock.

“Can I suck your cock?”

“What is this, a round of Mother May I?”

“Don’t say ‘mother’! I’ll go all limp, and that won’t be any fun.”

Julian’s response is to bring his hand to the back of Noel’s head and push it down into his groin, and Noel is glad he is ready for it, asking for it, or else he’d have ended up with an eyeful of cock instead of a mouthful.

He sucks Julian off with fervour, bobbing down under the weight of his hand and digging fingers into his thighs. When he turns his head to glance up, Julian is looking at him with eyes half closed, his tongue pressed against the corner of his open lips. Noel drags his lips up over the tip of Julian’s cock and pushes against his thighs to lean up a bit, a sly smile forming. He bites his lip to mask it, and Julian raises an eyebrow, grabbing a handful of Noel’s hair at the nape of his neck. Noel contemplates the delivery of his next sentence as Julian tightens his grip.

“What is it? Why’re you stopping?”

“Can I fuck you?”

Julian holds his breath for a moment and then lets out this gasping kind of laugh, and Noel’s fairly sure that he’s not being taken seriously. He frowns and tucks his hand under one of Julian’s knees, gritting his teeth and pushing it up, then ducking down to get his shoulder under it. Julian shifts compliantly under Noel’s guidance but he still looks too amused.

“You haven’t said no yet.”

“Does that mean you’re serious?”

“Do you think I’m mucking about?”

Julian’s smile slips, and he reaches out for Noel, who releases his shoulder and crawls up over his lap to kiss him, hesitant at first. The kiss gets rougher as it deepens; Noel has a feeling that he’s talking Julian into consenting, without even having to use any more words. Julian grabs his arms and pulls him up onto the couch, but he stubbornly shifts around so that he is kneeling in between Julian’s legs.

With a snort of laughter, Julian pulls back and gives Noel a fairly intent look. He slides backwards until he rests against the corner of the couch, hitching one knee up and then slowly but shamelessly hooking his leg up to rest along the back of the couch. An embarrassing sound squeaks its way out of Noel’s throat and he wriggles forward on his knees, leaning in to shove his tongue a little overenthusiastically into Julian’s mouth. Julian just rests a hand on Noel’s shoulder, fingers squeezing gently.

Noel wants to take his time with it all but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to hold back. He gets up off the couch to find his jacket, grasping around in a pocket for the sachet of lubricant he’s brought with him, and then crawling back onto the couch, in between Julian’s legs. Julian is slumped over perfectly, and Noel wonders if Julian’s thought of taking _him_ like this, all folded over on the couch. He’s not sure it looks very comfortable, but he wasn’t the one who chose it and he doesn’t dare tell Julian that he could be going about things the wrong way, because he’s not going to miss this opportunity.

He tears the corner of the sachet with his teeth and squeezes the gel out over his fingers, shuffling in close and leaning over to press his lips to the underside of Julian’s raised thigh. Julian maintains a look of temperance bordering on indifference as Noel slides one finger in, moving carefully in and out before following with a second finger. He stretches with a third and then Julian is nodding his head faintly, lips parted for his shallow breaths.

“You sure?” Noel hazards, and Julian arches an eyebrow. He may be willing to take it, but he’s certainly not going to _ask_ for it. Noel raises his eyebrow in mimicry, but then has the decency to look embarrassed.

“I haven’t, uh… I haven’t got a johnny, is that – do you mind?”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I said yes, wouldn’t I. Seriously, will you get on with it?”

Noel bites his lip, slipping his fingers out and running them over his cock before carefully pushing it in. Julian is watching Noel’s cock as it inches into him, and Noel leans over and headbutts him lightly, bringing his hands to rest either side of Julian’s chest.

“You’ll take it and you’ll like it,” he growls mockingly, and Julian musters up a weak laugh.

“It’s fine, get on with it.”

“You _will_ like it,” Noel murmurs, in what he’s hoping is his most convincing tone.

“I can’t recall ever stating that I didn’t.”

Noel can’t prevent a moan from sounding out as he shoves his hips in deep, dropping his forehead onto Julian’s shoulder. “Don’t say things like that just yet, you’ll be the fucking end of me.”

Julian just laughs, but it’s shallow, caught in his throat. He turns his cheek to rest against Noel’s hair and reaches down, fingers clasping around the discarded lubricant sachet. Noel watches as he squeezes the last of it out and fists his cock, and that’s enough for Noel to raise his head and start rolling his hips. He tries to go slowly but gets caught up in it, soon pushing in steadily over and over as Julian drops his head back against the couch and groans.

Noel comes quickly, gasping out a warning to Julian only a moment before he buckles over, shoulders shuddering as his hips jerk in. Julian reaches his free hand up to drag through Noel’s hair, pulling his head down until their foreheads are touching. Julian closes his eyes and murmurs Noel’s name quietly before spilling over his fingers, breath hitching in his throat.

They stay frozen in place, breathing against each other, until Julian shifts and lets go of Noel’s hair. Noel pushes up off him, and Julian wrinkles up his nose.

“What’re we going to do on the live tour?”

Noel is slightly bewildered by the question at this time. “More of… that?”

“I mean on stage, you tosspot.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

He grins impishly, ready for Julian to throw something at him, even if it’s only his next line. Nothing follows, though. He pauses for a moment in the silence before frowning and continuing on.

“Where did that even come from? Why’re you thinking about that?”

“I don’t know. We’re in the office? Jump up, I need a cigarette.”

Noel shuffles backwards, flopping back onto the couch and feeling the leather shift underneath his bare skin. Julian reaches for his pants and trousers.

“Was that okay?”

“Christ, Fielding. Do I ask _you_ for feedback every time?”

Noel scowls and gets up off the couch, finding his jeans on the floor and attempting to wrench them on over his boots, causing the process to take a lot longer than if he’d just taken the boots off to pull the jeans on. Julian is also pulling clothes back on, but in a more meandering fashion. Once he’s got his cardigan on, he walks over to Noel, who is only just doing up the fly on his jeans. His fingers brush against Noel’s arm, but Noel shrugs away from his touch.

“Noel, don’t be an idiot.”

“Are you joking me? Don’t touch me.”

“That’s my line.”

“That’s a fictional character’s line. Fuck it, Julian, I was just…” He trails off, curling his hands into fists in his frustration.

“Finish your sentence.”

“You’re so fucking made of stone, you know?”

“That’s not how the first sentence started.”

Noel whirls around and grabs for the first thing within reach, which happens to be a ukulele. He pegs it at Julian and it bounces off his shoulder, clattering onto the ground.

“Please don’t.”

“Look, _Barratt_ , I know we don’t talk about it, I know you _can’t_ talk about it, but can’t you at least pretend? When we’re done fucking, can’t you at least _pretend_ that you remember it happening?”

Julian lurches forward and grabs Noel’s arms just above the elbows, pinning them to his sides. He has the decency to look mildly irritated, whereas Noel can feel the thundering of his own aggravation right throughout his body. He doesn’t bother with struggling; he knows that Julian has him trapped. Julian leans in close, his voice a low rumble.

“Listen to me.” He pauses, and Noel doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. “Are you going to listen?”

Noel nods his head slowly in defeat, keeping his glare fixed on Julian.

“The minute, Noel, the very _minute_ we give it a definition or even begin to find a definition is the minute it’s gone. Don’t you see that? It’s the same with everything. You and I, we’ll never be able to explain anything, and it’s not because we _won’t_ explain, but because we _can’t_. And that’s the truth of it.”

Noel’s eyes burn. He grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then glares at Julian again. He attempts to glare. It’s not as hardened, this time, because something has broken, somewhere in his chest.

Loosening his grip on Noel’s arms, Julian steps in closer and ducks his head down, grazing his stubble against Noel’s cheek. Noel sucks in a deep breath; Julian’s voice is barely more than a whisper.

“I enjoyed it. Very much.”

Noel slides his arms around Julian’s waist, leaning into him and letting his breath out again, embarrassed as it shudders from him.

“That’s all I wanted to know. Just that, Ju. Julian—”

And Julian is silencing him effectively with a kiss, but it says enough. These things that Julian can and will not say, this things they can’t ever talk about for fear of drowning, these are things that Noel can taste in Julian’s mouth. Julian’s fingers thread through his hair as he pushes his fingers against Julian’s back, trying to leave his fingerprints there forever in invisible ink.

Once Noel is satisfied, Julian mumbles his quiet words against Noel’s temple.

“The day you’re not a part of who I am is the day I think I’ll cease existing. I’ll just fade away.”

 

———————

 

A week later, and Maison Bertaux Café is tiny.

Noel only realises this properly as he and Tania, the gallerist, frantically assemble the last few pieces of Noel’s collection on the walls – that is, the last few pieces that fit.

“I’m sorry, darling. I know I said more, more, more but I appear to have been mistaken.”

There isn’t enough room for all of it. He’d thought there wasn’t enough art, Tania had called him every few days and asked for more bits and pieces, but it turns out that there are not enough walls. Painted plates hang in rows and there are even canvases smothering the walls in the narrow stairwell. With a hoot of glee and a cheeky grin, Noel selects a piece to hang in the bathroom and ducks into the tiny space with it.

The private viewing for friends and family kicks off in only a couple of hours – though the word ‘friend’ is used quite loosely with Noel; he can’t even remember who he’s invited. It doesn’t really matter who is coming. In a fleeting moment of panic, he hopes that everyone forgets, absolutely everyone, because he’s so nervous that he’s afraid he might throw up. He stares at the porcelain bowl of the toilet and thinks about making himself throw up, just to get it out. Just to stop it from happening later without his control. He ends up deciding not to do it, neatly closing the wooden lid and washing his hands.

When he emerges again, Tania is walking around the room, observing all the walls with satisfaction tinting her features. Noel picks up a thick black marker from one of the tables and pulls the cap off, brow furrowing.

“Should I write next to them?”

“Write what, darling?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Their names? Their favourite colours? What they eat for breakfast?”

“You go ahead and write any old glorious thing you want to write,” Tania replies. Noel imagines her as a cartoon fairy godmother, one of the more slim and attractive ones, with a huge sparkle in her eye that catches sunlight even on cloudy days.

“Do you have any paper?”

“Oh, don’t worry about paper, darling. Write on the walls, I don’t care. Make magic,” she trills, breezing out of the room and leaving Noel to his own devices.

He sits on a table in the middle of the room for ages, sipping his cup of tea. Finally, he slips off the table and approaches the painting he’s done of Naboo. It’s easy to think of a caption for it, and he writes quickly and messily underneath it. _Now I’m gonna have to turn my back on you._

One by one, each painting and piece of work gets its own caption. Tania brings more tea and Noel keeps writing, drawing doodles on the few spots of wall that are too awkward to squeeze a canvas onto. Tania claps her hands in delight and raves about keeping some of it on the walls forever, but Noel is fairly sure that if he’s allowed to help clean up the mess at the end of the exhibition, he’ll be sure to get rid of all of it.

“Noel, you little charmer. Your lucky girl – she is beautiful here!”

Tania traces her finger under the words that Noel has written next to the portrait he’s done of Delia. _The girl I love is called Dee_ , it says, _she wears cowboy hats and tight trousers just like me._ Noel grins, embarrassed about having written it, only now thinking of the strangers that will see his words.

“She’s beautiful always,” he replies, because it’s true.

With a girlish swoon, Tania flutters back out of the room, her heels clopping down the stairs. Noel takes a discerning look at the painting of Dee. It’s the first time he’s looked at it closely for months, it being one of his older pieces. He checks out the lines and angles to make sure he’s still happy with it. Once he’s confident with the work, he stands back and surveys it again to make sure it’s properly flattered in its nook of the room.

With a slow three hundred and sixty degree spin, he picks out the spot he would have hung a certain painting, had it still existed, had he dared.

 _The boy I love is called Julian_ , it might have said next to it, in thick black marker. _He’s a bit wrong in the brainpan just like me._

 

———————

 

A few short hours later (including popping out to visit his hairdresser and picking up a change of clothes), Noel has thrown back enough glasses of champagne that he’s already pissed, swanning around in a ridiculous cape and telling people he’s a vampire. Tania occasionally catches his arm and tells him how many more pieces have been sold, darling. They’re running away from him as fast as they can, these creations of his, and he worries that he hasn’t loved them enough.

Julia is standing in front of one of his favourite pieces. It is small and nestled high up, around head height, surrounded by painted plates. In it, small creatures are flittering around a bright street lamp in the darkness, like moths gone wrong, mutant moths. He’d asked Tania to surround it in plates, though whether to make it stand out even more or mask it, he’s not sure. Julia is pointing at it and gesturing to her companion. Julia, Julia, Julian’s Julia. Why is there one but not the other? She catches Noel’s eye and grins at him, waving him over and dragging Noel into her conversation.

“He’s so enamoured with this piece, Noel, he told—”

“He is?”

Noel can’t hide the incredulity in his voice, going so far as to cut Julia off mid-sentence. He remembers having shown Julian the painting once, back in the lounge room at his flat. He distinctly remembers holding his breath (though he did this with every one of them) and having Julian do nothing more than nod impassively in response to it. He’d seemed more interested in others, at the time. Asked questions of Noel, grinning and laughing or straight-faced and thoughtful, like he was trying to read what he saw in front of him.

Noel remembers Julian professing to be useless at art, blurting out that he didn’t have any idea of what he should be looking for when he looked at pieces. Noel remembers taking his hand, squeezing it gently, and telling him to stick with his music. Julian had seemed affronted until Noel had likened the situation to how he felt in front of sheet music.

“It’s like it’s in Bosnian. Do they even speak Bosnian in Bosnia? That’s how unbelievably lost I am when it comes to music. I’m like a moth near a bright light. I’m completely useless.”

Noel remembers how Julian got him to shut up, distracting him with lazy kisses.

“Yes, he told me to buy it or I’d be in a huge amount of trouble.”

Julia’s words bring Noel back to the present; he blinks at her, and then turns to the painting. “It’s got a sticker, it’s already sold.” He is blunter than he means to be, maybe.

“Yes, I know, I bought it.”

“Oh, that’s good, then. I’m glad; I’m glad you got it.”

“I should have just made Julian get it himself, but he’s being a big sook tonight.”

“He’s not here?”

“No, he is, he’s just outside. You haven’t seen him yet? He’s pretending to be claustrophobic. Mind you, it _is_ a bit like a sardine tin in here.”

“I’d like to be a bat. I’d just hang from the ceiling and watch you all from upside down.”

“You could poo on people’s heads, too, to get them to clear out.”

“Bats have sonar, right? Sonar’s genius, I wish I had sonar.”

“I’ve got no idea. Ask Attenborough?”

“I’d like to have a drink with Attenborough one day. I think he and I would have a lot to talk about.”

Julia’s eyes are drifting. Her last conversation partner has since realised that they’re not a part of this one and wandered off, and Julia is watching them across the room. Years of experience with trying to grab a crowd are telling Noel that he’s dying on his arse with this audience of one, but he can’t blame himself because he’s certainly not giving it his all. He’s drunk, too, and that never helps with a good performance. He clears his throat and she focuses back on him.

“Thank you for coming, Julia. Thanks for dragging him along, I’m impressed that you managed it.”

“Don’t be silly, he was the one dragging me.” Julia catches the look of trepidation on Noel’s face, and laughs, resting her hand on his arm. “Not that I didn’t want to come! I just mean that he wouldn’t have missed it for the world, he loves you so dearly. He’s so proud of you.”

“I know,” Noel says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “It’s disgusting, isn’t it? I don’t know how you put up with it.”

He wants to stick around and joke with Julia regarding how well Julian loves him, because he is full of giggly bubbles and wants to see how far he can push the game until the truth pops out. What he wants more, though, is to be near Julian. He excuses himself, bumps into five more sardines on his way down the stairs, and finally breaks through into the crisp evening air, drawing in a deep breath.

There are still people everywhere. They are all people that Noel vaguely recognises and if he wasn’t hunting he would be sure to stop and chat with each and every one of them, but he is scanning the crowd, looking for a face, a tall face. He threads through conversations and dodges hands but when one set of fingers rests on his shoulder it’s nothing short of a lightning bolt.

“There you are,” he says, spinning around to face Julian with an overly exuberant grin.

“Here I am,” he replies, brandishing a half-finished glass of beer in one hand. “Do you want one?”

“Um, yes, but quickly, before Tania notices I’m gone.”

Julian turns and threads through the people, towards the pub next door. Noel finds it easy to follow in his wake and they end up sitting in a corner of the bar, one of those corner seats built into the wall with a table secured in front of it. Julian slides in one side and Noel slides in the other. They meet in the middle, legs touching from ankle to hip.

“So, apparently you love me.”

Julian swallows his mouthful of beer slowly before answering. “Sources say?”

“Yeah, good sources say. Truth or fallacy?”

“You know the tabloids.”

“Truth or fallacy?”

“Do I dare?”

“You must love me.”

“Don’t do that voice.”

“You must love me, Barratt. You must love me exactly as I love you, because if—”

“Don’t do that voice!”

“You bought one of my paintings.”

“How d’you know that?”

“Same source.”

“Oh, I see. You weren’t supposed to find that out.”

“I would have just given it to you.”

“I know, that’s why you weren’t supposed to find out.”

Noel shifts in his seat to face Julian’s side and presses his chest lightly against the other man’s shoulder, leaning in with his hand on Julian’s shoulder to whisper a secret that he should be keeping to himself. Julian rests his hand on Noel’s leg but remains expressionless throughout Noel’s hushed stream of words, in which he mentions paintings and naked curves and brainpans and the word that starts with L and rhymes with ‘snuv’ and paths made of stone.

Holding his deadpan expression, Julian quietly tells Noel that there is no such word as ‘snuv’, and that his exhibition is probably waiting for him to finish his drink, so perhaps he should hurry it along. But then his fingers squeeze Noel’s leg and despite the impassiveness, Noel knows he’s allowed to grin.

“I snuv you, Julian.”

“Bugger off, you drunken tit.”

He runs into Julian twice more during the course of the evening.

The first time the two of them hold a genial conversation out on the street with a variety of others and it’s nice, because with this crowd, Julian doesn’t seem to feel awkward about bouncing a ridiculous string of sentences back and forth with Noel. Usually when they head out in public together these days, just the two of them, they are expected to perform, but this crowd don’t ask that of them, not through words or even looks. They are here for Noel, and Julian is here for Noel, and Noel is giddy with it.

The last encounter for the evening occurs as Noel is bidding yet another handful of people goodbye. He trips over every other footstep and laughs loudly as they walk off into the darkness, when Julian appears at his side and rests a hand comfortably on his hip to support him.

“I think you should have stopped drinking an hour or three ago,” he says, and Noel slumps against him and sighs appreciatively at the warmth he oozes.

“I’m fine, it’s great. It’s all brilliant. My stuff, everyone bought it. Did you know? It’s all gone. I’ll miss it.”

“Come on, Fielding. It’s nicer inside.”

Julian starts to shepherd Noel back around the corner, but Noel hooks his fingers into Julian’s jacket pocket and cranes up to kiss him. Julian turns his head quickly and Noel ends up pressing his kiss to Julian’s cheek, rough whiskers tickling Noel’s lips.

“Oh, come on…”

“Now I know you’re definitely drunk.”

“You knew I was definitely drunk many hours ago.”

“Well, yes. The answer is still no.”

“It’s my night, Julian. I miss my paintings. It’s my night.”

“They’re all still inside, they’ll still be inside for months! Just come back inside, Noel.”

Noel doesn’t reply with words, instead he plants his feet firmly on the ground – as firmly as he can, anyway. He leans back and tries to drag Julian with him, but Julian will have none of it.

“Stop being a fucking woman. Next thing I know, you’ll have a minge.”

“You can check…”

“ _Noel._ Fuckssake, for the love of—”

Julian cuts himself off mid-sentence and glances over his shoulder, then cups Noel’s cheek in his hand and kisses him chastely. It’s enough, though. It’s never enough but for now, it’s enough, and Noel consents to following Julian, being dragged by Julian, back into the café. He melts into the crowd again and there are hands and voices eager for him, all wanting a piece of him now that they can’t buy up any more of his ridiculous art.

He doesn’t notice the moment that Julian and Julia leave for the night, only that they are gone. Together, they are gone. Like his works of art, all gone.


	5. What's Not In Between, Part Five.

The weekend before Christmas finds them both in Julian’s local, having a quiet afternoon drink at the bar – Julian from a pint glass, Noel through a straw. There are things that need to be done, like writing the live show. There are things that could be done, like discussing the impending holidays. There are things that shouldn’t be done at all, like playing Yin and Yang on bar stools in a pub.

“Three months,” Julian mutters into his glass, half-empty.

“What?”

“The tour. The live show. Three months of our lives.”

“I know. It’s going to be insanity. I’m way too excited. My face is going to fall off, that’s how excited I am.”

“Does it not concern you that we haven’t finished the first draft of the script?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Half the shows, _more_ than half of the shows have sold out, and all we’ve got is a concept.”

“You’ve got to admit, it’s a pretty brilliant concept.”

“It _is_ quite good.”

“The thing is, we could probably stand on the stage for three hours and throw satsumas at each other and they’d still be happy.”

“They?”

“The crowd. The audience. The adoring masses.”

“How the hell did we manage to sell out so many shows?”

“I think it’s just the one audience. It’s the one group of people, just travelling around to every show. They’ll be in tour buses behind us. We’ll have overtaking races on the motorway. It’ll be like one of those pensioners’ travel trips, except with less lavender rinse and more excessive drinking.”

Swallowing his last mouthful of beer, Julian laughs as he orders another drink for the both of them. Noel’s not so sure it’s a laughing matter, he thinks he could be onto something, but the fans are cool enough that it’s not too much trouble. Julian turns to him and he’s wearing his business face.

“I want to have the bulk of it written by February. February? March, maybe. Can we get it done by March?”

“I dunno, I guess so.”

“That’s including January off, though.”

“What’s this about January?”

“I think we should take January off. I’d like January off.”

“Off from what?”

Julian twists his wrist, swirling the beer around in his glass, his eyes trained on following the circles he twirls. “From writing, from concentrating. For family things.”

“Oh. Sure, of course.”

And Noel wants to open his mouth again and say, Does that mean time off from me? From all of this? But he doesn’t dare, because he doesn’t want to hear the tone of Julian’s voice when he replies with Yes.

Noel sucks the last of his something and diet coke through his straw, and then puts the glass down soundly on the bar. He gets to his feet and straightens his jacket, runs a hand through his hair and excuses himself. The restrooms are down the back of the pub; he strolls in through the hinged door and stands over the trough, unzipping his jeans.

A minute later, the door swings open again as he washes his hands. He glances over furtively but he’s right in assuming it’s just Julian. Just Julian, he thinks with a smirk. Julian is never a ‘just’, or an ‘only’. He wipes his clean hands on his jeans as Julian approaches and then veers off, into a stall – a stall with a door, a door that remains open after Julian disappears behind it.

With a quick look to the door leading into the bathroom, Noel slips into the stall and closes the door behind him, turning to face Julian and leaning back against the flimsy wood. Julian is already so close that Noel can feel each breath on his skin as the other man rests his hands either side of him against the door.

“You haven’t washed your hands, Julian.”

“Because I didn’t get my cock out.”

“Maybe you should.”

Julian’s mouth splits into a grin, his shoulders shaking as he holds back his laughter. Noel leans up to taste the giggles, but Julian’s not laughing any more. He meets Noel’s kiss and it’s a bit drunk, a bit lazy, and always familiar. Julian seeks out Noel’s hands and pins them against the door, up around Noel’s shoulders. Noel arches forward and grinds himself against Julian’s thigh, and Julian quietly and politely suggests that they should leave the bar.

Delia is back in Berlin again, counting on Sue to try and dissuade her anxiety over the impending album release and tour, so Noel pulls Julian into a taxi and directs it to Kentish Town. He pulls Julian up the stairs after dragging him out of his jacket and scarf. He pulls Julian into the bedroom and drags him out of his other layers, too, and Julian sits on the bed and watches as Noel follows suit.

Without a word, Noel slips onto the mattress and kneels up at the head of the bed, his hands coming to rest lightly against the wall. He hears Julian moving around behind him and then his fingers are pressing into him, slick and sure. He pushes his forehead against the wall and exhales heavily and then Julian’s hands are running up the insides of his thighs. Noel can feel his breath against the small of his back. The silence is impenetrable as Julian rests one hand on his hip and pulls him down until he is sliding slowly onto him, his breaths shaky.

Noel keeps his hands pressed against the wall to begin with, his movements languid and lazy. As Julian’s hands snake around him, one resting against his chest, the other curling fingers around his cock, Noel pushes off the wall to lean against Julian, back against chest. His arms stretch up into the air above his head before curling down over his head, twisting around with no anchor until Julian presses a kiss against his collarbone. He brings one hand to rest against Julian’s head, fingers entwined in his hair. The other hand slides down Julian’s arm against his chest to find his hand, slipping his fingers in between Julian’s and holding tight.

For a second it feels _too_ serene, _too_ intimate, and Noel’s heart sits in his throat, ready to fall out. He quickly breaks the moment by teasing, varying the speed of his movements, picking up the pace and then grinding to a halt. Julian murmurs a warning and Noel’s reply is a messy kiss at awkward angles. His grip on him tightens, Julian’s fingers deft on his cock and his hips jerking up underneath him. Noel moans and curses and behaves himself, settling back into an easy pace until Julian tucks his face against the back of his neck and his breath catches in his throat.

Noel thinks, _Now_ , and Julian hears him. He murmurs Noel’s name four times as he comes, in between groans and heavy, choking breaths. Noel drags their entwined fingers down to his cock and finishes himself as Julian’s warm breaths wash down over his back. His come hits the wall and Noel watches the trail it makes as it slowly slides down.

Julian pulls him back tight against his chest and then bundles him down against the mattress, and they fall unconscious, wrapped in silence. Half an hour later Noel rouses Julian from their nap and leads him into the shower. They stand close under the water and end up kissing until they turn into prunes with wrinkled white skin, and it is only then that they stumble back out. With towels around their waists, they curl back up on the bed, Noel’s back against Julian’s chest. Julian’s damp whiskers tickle at Noel’s neck and he realises that they have barely spoken a word for hours. They have barely spoken a word, but they have said so much, and Noel falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

 

———————

 

This is how it ends.

The scene: the Hawley Arms, the thirty-first of December, two thousand and seven. A new year’s lock-in; amongst the crowd are Noel and Julian. Correction: amongst the crowd are Noel and partner, Dee; amongst the crowd are Julian and partner, Julia. (“Doesn’t that ever get confusing?” “There’s a whole N of difference between us.” “Is it like a maths equation? To the Nth degree? That N could be any measure, any measure at all.”) There is cheering to be had, the crackle of fireworks and the wet smack of celebratory kisses for another year they’ve managed to survive. It’s all swings and roundabouts, Noel confesses to an anonymous dance partner at 11:47pm. The only response he gets is a bubble-drunk giggle. It doesn’t matter to him when they’re lost to the crowd. Nothing matters much at all.

Grinning and twirling, Noel finishes his champagne and threads his way back to the bar for another. He is on his best behaviour tonight, his best possible behaviour for the New Year, with fingers crossed for a straight run through all twelve months ahead. He is hazy greys and mid-tones, never black and white despite his best efforts. Maybe this year he can change, he thinks, ordering two more glasses of bubbly and avoiding the eye of the bartender who has spent the last however many dalliances helping him with the occasional illicit, under the counter purchase. He hears someone calling his name as he turns to find his way back through the crowd again, but where the first step is to make a decision, the second step is to keep walking. So he does.

Julian is standing with his back against the wall, nursing a tumbler glass. Noel approaches holding his two drinks and Julian gestures out into the throng of people dancing; when Noel follows the trail from the tip of his finger he sees their two female companions in the thick of it. Dee is ready to tour with her band, gearing up for night after night and week after week of late nights and stupid dancing. Julia looks slightly worse for wear; Noel can only assume that she is used to early nights but only intermittent sleep patterns and constant worry. That is what infants equal, to Noel. This is what Julian does not say, this is what Noel does not want to hear from him. Long-winded stories about the wrong kind of jungle adventures, the kind that Noel does not care to map out. He leans in close to Julian’s ear.

“What’s the time?”

“WHAT?”

“WHAT’S THE TIME, JULIAN?”

“NOT FAR OFF. MAYBE FIVE. SHOULD WE GO DANCE?” Julian nods his head in the direction of the girls.

“I want to dance with you.”

“WHAT?”

“I WANT TO DANCE WITH YOU.”

“What?”

“I want to dance with you.”

“I HEARD YOU. ARE YOU THOROUGHLY MARINATED IN ALCOHOL?”

In reply, Noel sticks his tongue in Julian’s ear. Julian jerks back as if Noel’s bitten him, staring at him for a moment before grabbing a fistful of Noel’s shirt and leaning back in to growl in Noel’s ear.

“Don’t be a fucking imbecile.”

“WHAT?”

“YOU’RE A FUCKING TIT, CUT IT OUT.”

“I WANT TO TOUCH YOU, CAN’T WE – CAN WE GO SOMEWHERE?”

Julian leans back again and Noel feels as though it might be specifically so that the other man can narrow his eyes at him without ending up cross-eyed. With his hand still grabbing Noel’s shirt, Julian starts to weave his way through the crowd, heading towards Dee and Julia. Noel can either let his shirt get possibly stretched and ruined, or follow Julian’s forceful lead. He chooses the latter and trails in his wake, sticking close. He’s careful not to bump into Julian’s back when the other man stops dead in front of him. Peeking over his shoulder, he locks eyes with Dee, who pokes her tongue out at him and reaches around Julian to grab at his arm. After a moment or two of Dee’s fingers squeezing him, he realises that she’s attempting to drag him over to her side, so he steps around Julian and nudges up against Dee with a wane smile.

“THREE MINUTES,” she shouts into his ear.

“I KNOW!”

“RESOLUTIONS?”

“GET FUCKED.” It’s okay, because he laughs when he says it. She asked through grinning lips, besides.

Noel hands his spare champagne to Dee, who wrinkles her nose up but takes it anyway, raising it to her lips before Noel’s hand grabs at her wrist.

“WAIT THREE MINUTES,” he instructs her.

She guiltily covers her mouth with her free hand and nods, shuffling in close to his side and dancing to the beat while trying not to spill a drop. Noel moves against her in return, slipping his free hand around her waist and trying not to glance over at Julian. It takes all of a minute and thirty-four seconds before he can’t help himself. He does it almost by accident. It just happens. Julian just appears in his line of sight and he is innocent for looking. He convinces himself of this as he engulfs the sight of him – his arms around his tiny, blonde thing, his tentative and somewhat alcohol-tainted smile, his horrible dancing. It’s not just horrible, it’s clumsy and completely awful, to be honest. Noel still wants to dance with him.

“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”

It’s surely impossible for time to move so quickly and yet so slowly, all at once.

“SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!”

Dee’s fingers pinch his side in her excitement. It’s just numbers, Noel thinks. Just more numbers and letters all jumbled together. It’s just another day.

“FOUR! THREE! TWO!”

Time is running out, Noel thinks.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Dee throws back her champagne and leaps at Noel’s face, her hands clutching at his cheeks. The empty champagne flute is cool against his skin. She presses her lips against his and suddenly he’s kissing her back, he doesn’t realise it until he’s in it, his tongue shoved against hers, lips almost bruising in the intensity of it. He feels something smash just next to his foot, feels it rather than hears it because the music is so loud. Something awful is playing. The first song of two thousand and eight is not something Noel will want to remember.

When Dee pulls back from the kiss only to throw her arms around Noel’s neck for a ferocious hug, Noel realises that both his hands are empty. It was his champagne that smashed, surely. He wraps his arms around Dee and Julian is looking at him, something is burning. It sends a shiver through him. He’s close enough to touch; they both are, they all are, all four of them. Julian’s hand reaches out for his arm but Noel is faster, Noel grabs Julian’s hand in his and squeezes his fingers. Julian leans over and presses his lips against Noel’s cheek. They are warm and champagne-sticky against his skin.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR, FIELDING.”

“WELCOME TO TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHT, JU.”

Dee raises her head from Noel’s shoulder and realises Julian’s closeness. She untangles herself from Noel and flings her arms around Julian, spreading her own cheer. In turn, Julia catches Noel’s eye; her cheeks are pink (from kissing, or just from drink – speak up, Julia, be a dear) and Noel leans over for more cheek-kisses and best wishes. His lips accidentally come into contact with hers as she leans, too – she laughs, Noel laughs. Happy New Year, darling. Glad tidings – no, that’s Christmas. Let auld acquaintance be forgot. For auld lang syne, my friend.

Julia throws her champagne back and then there is none. Everyone is out of drinks; there are far too many free hands. Julia raises one of hers and untangles herself from the group clutch, taking one for the team after checking up on what everyone’s drinking at this stage of the evening. Whatever, it doesn’t matter by now. Noel will drink anything he’s given. He’s a good boy.

With one arm around Noel and Julian each, Dee leans in to whisper something to Julian. It’s clearly not a whisper with the general pub racket surrounding them, but in any case, Noel can’t hear it. Julian’s reply to her is nothing but a sardonic raised eyebrow, a vague rolling of eyes. She is grinning as she turns to Noel and he is allowed in on the secret.

“ARE YOU TWO GONNA SNOG, THEN? NEW YEARS AND ALL?”

“ALL WHAT? WHO TWO?”

Moving serpentine against him, Dee laughs and licks Noel’s cheek. She nods her head towards Julian, who is maintaining his derisory take on the situation. With Dee’s eyes burning a hole through him, he allows himself to take in Julian’s appearance, his current mannerisms, the way the corner of his lip twitches. Noel sees the resilient look falter for a moment. There is a weakness there that he wants to envelop.

“WHAT – ME AND JULIAN?”

“OH, GO ON. IT’S NEW YEAR. SNOG HIM, MAKE IT HOT.”

“I’M NOT DRUNK ENOUGH FOR THAT MOUSTACHE, DELIA.”

“FUCK OFF, YOU’RE NOT. I DON’T CARE, _I_ AM! FOR ME, NOELY.”

Dee laughs and twists out from between the men, directing arms and postures, pushing and shoving with drunken hands. Noel and Julian don’t bother resisting it, though when Noel looks at Julian and he looks back at Noel, there’s something lurking that says, Don’t. Noel can’t imagine why. They’ve done this at Dee’s request before – Noel’s done this without Julian at Dee’s request before. It’s a party trick that Dee ring leads and everyone’s in on the joke. Noel just wants Julian to laugh along with the rest of them.

Threading his fingers up through Julian’s flimsy excuse for hair, Noel traces his tongue over his top lip in anticipation. It’s been days since it’s been just the two of them, secret and alone, and despite being quite good about it all, with this put in front of him he’s suddenly desperate for the contact. He can feel Julian slipping away from him, turning into dust in front of him. Julian places his hand on Noel’s chest, fingers splaying out over his collarbone, and Noel wonders if he’s about to be shoved backwards. To avoid the chance he twirls his fingers, tangling them in Julian’s hair and ensuring there’s no escape without a fight. Noel laughs, carefree in playing the game and thrilled with fate’s card dealing out a chance of a proper fucking snog.

With a wink to Dee, Noel pushes his fingers against Julian’s scalp and pulls himself in, satisfied that the act is consensual when he feels Julian’s arms tucking around him loosely. He leans in, resting his length against the other man from forehead to knees. Julian mutters his name as Noel presses their lips together; he can feel rather than see Julian’s teeth clench. After only a second or two, Julian turns his head to the side to break the contact.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? GET INVOLVED, JULIAN.” Dee looks unimpressed, twirling a strand of hair around a finger.

Noel laughs again, slipping his fingers down to the nape of Julian’s neck and kneading them gently against his skin. Julian turns back to face Noel; they are so close that their noses graze. Noel stares into Julian’s eyes, trying to concentrate so that he doesn’t go cross-eyed. Something in Julian’s eyes tugs at Noel’s stomach like an ache but he can’t pinpoint it. This look is pieces of so many things – headlined by hesitancy, but something more carnal and raw is lurking at the edges. That’s what Noel wants to tap into. More than anything, he wants to reach in and grab onto that. No – more than anything, he wants Julian to let him.

Without warning, with not even a subtle change in his eyes, Julian closes the slip of distance between them. Strong hands grab Noel’s hips and he parts his lips to gasp but then Julian’s tongue is there and he’s glad to be leaning against Julian or else there’s a chance he’d be slumped on the floor. He looks over to Dee with one eye unobscured by Julian; she has a hand pressed to her chest and watches them intently. Noel’s heart is burning away, volcanic, on the verge of explosion. The game is falling into breadcrumbs around his feet. His eyelids flutter closed, his fingers grip Julian’s shoulders and he loses himself to the bubbling lava that floods through his chest as he kisses back with a fierce intensity.

The moment that Julian’s lips are gone, Noel lurches forward at a loss. His hands tighten on Julian’s shoulders, white-knuckled. Julian tilts his head up towards the ceiling as his chest rises and falls heavily with each breath. Belatedly remembering the situation, Noel turns his head, prepared with a weak smile for Dee – except that she’s disappeared. He jerks his head around sharply to see if he’s forgotten where she was standing, but she’s not to their right either. There’s a whole throng of people but none of them appear to be Dee.

Noel brings his hands up to Julian’s cheeks and presses his thumbs against Julian’s chin, forcing it down, dragging him back from wherever he's gone. The urge to kiss him again is almost unbearable. The urge to push him back against a wall and drop to his knees is possibly worse. He somehow shoves both of them out of the way as Julian's eyes follow the same path that his did just moments ago. Julian ducks his head down to speak in Noel's ear, and it's clear by his tone that he's hoping to make himself heard to Noel alone and not any of the other writhing frames surrounding them.

“DEE’S GONE.”

Noel leans up and turns his face into Julian’s hair in a mirror of his closeness. His next breath out is slow as he tries to stay steady, to keep Julian steady with him. “WHAT? DELIA’S GONE?”

“DEE’S GONE, I CAN’T SEE HER.”

“SHE'LL BE FINE, SHE'LL PROBABLY BE HELPING JULIA WITH THE DRINKS.”

“DID SHE SEE IT?”

“THE SNOG? I'M PRETTY SURE SHE—”

“NO, THE WAY YOU BLOODY LOOKED AT ME.”

A pause hangs over the conversation as Noel is frozen in time and space. With his hands still clinging to Julian, he pushes himself back and stares into the other man’s eyes. Julian is straight-faced, trying to hide any kind of emotion, almost succeeding. Noel starts to scoff but Julian raises his eyebrow and that’s enough to cut him off. He blinks slowly as his mind whirrs; it's hard to focus when he’s all fuzzy around the edges. Julian takes a step back and Noel, still grabbing tight to his shoulders, follows with an extra step to get in close again.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

“I NEED A CIGARETTE.”

“CAN’T GET OUT THAT WAY.”

“JUST OUT THE FRONT?”

“LOCK-IN, YEAH? COME THIS WAY, COME WITH ME.”

Noel slides his fingers over Julian’s shoulder and grabs his arm, tugging him through the crowd. He keeps an eye out for Dee, in case they come across her on the way. It’s a lock-in so she can’t have gotten far. It’s also possible that Julian’s full of shit and she just got bored of the game and needed another drink. Another drink. Julia was due to come back with more drinks, too, and now they’ll be gone. Noel shakes away the thought of turning back and waiting for them patiently, instead dragging Julian onward and out.

The Hawley staff don’t ever try and tell Noel what he can and can’t do in their pub. He’s Noel Fielding, he’s a drawcard these days and they’re too afraid to lose his patronage. He counts on that as he leads Julian down through rooms that have STAFF ONLY slapped across the doors, winding down to the back end of the pub and creeping stealthily out a side door into a fenced-off narrow parking area, in the company of a couple of cars and a lot of silence. The moment the crisp air hits their lungs, Julian is lighting up a cigarette. He takes a long drag, letting it out slowly and closing his eyes. Noel steals the cigarette from Julian’s fingers and takes a quick drag before Julian can reprimand him.

“You could just have one of your own, if you like.”

“I don’t mind sharing yours.”

“Maybe I do.”

“What, mind?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you?”

“I suppose not.”

With a grin, Noel is up against Julian’s side, nimbly returning the cigarette to its rightful owner. He leans in to mouth at Julian’s jaw as he’s taking another long drag and acting oblivious to the attention. Noel pushes Julian back against the brick wall of the building and, resting a hand against Julian’s chest, he leans in to bite his earlobe. Julian is quick to react to it, tilting his head away and raising his elbow up to push Noel off as he furrows his brow. Noel steps back with a frown, keeping a thin line of distance between them.

“What? Can I not – I thought that’s why we came out here.”

“We came out here because I needed a cigarette.”

“Go on, you can multitask.”

Noel steps back in against Julian’s side and is again met with an elbow nudging his ribs. He pouts his lips and snakes a hand in against the waistband of Julian’s trousers. In a blink, he finds himself being shoved around and suddenly the positions have changed. His back is against the wall and Julian is leaning a heavy forearm across his chest, looking furious with gritted teeth and a fire in his eyes.

“ARE YOU COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS? IS THAT FUCKING POSSIBLE, FIELDING, TO BE THAT FUCKING OBLIVIOUS?”

Noel turns his head to the side and reaches up to wipe the back of his hand across his cheek, wiping away a couple of flecks of spit. He prefers it when he’s the one yelling, when he’s the one with the power – or at least the feeling of power. He wonders if Julian is right in his statement and if perhaps he only ever imagines that he has power over him. Now is probably not the time for a calm and quiet conversation about this, Noel thinks with a wry smile. Julian catches the smile and misreads it, slamming his forearm hard against Noel’s chest and growling.

“Julian, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m just – Christ, Noel. I have no idea what’s happening in your fucking brain right now.”

“It’s the New Year. I’m trying to enjoy the New Year, and I’m trying to enjoy it with you.”

“With Dee just inside.”

“I’ll enjoy it with her later. I’ll get her home in an hour or so and we’ll make love, I’ll fuck her five times over and you’ll—”

“ _Fielding._ ” Julian cuts him off sharply but quietly, his arm still heavy against his chest, and Noel knows that he’s pushed it too far. There are only so many things he can do, only so many times he can escape without repercussion.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not. You’re not, and it kills me.”

“I am too sorry! I’m fucking sorry! I’m – fuck it, Julian, I’m drunk. You need to take me with salt.” Noel laughs, Julian doesn’t. “Don’t do that, actually, that would sting, that would fucking sting like a bitch.”

Julian steps back, releasing him from being pinned against the wall. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares evenly at Noel, and Noel feels like he’s behind the bars of a cage at the zoo. He stays slumped against the wall for support because his footing isn’t going to be particularly steady, not with the amount of drinks he’s had, and certainly not under this kind of scrutiny.

He holds a hand out, beckoning Julian back over to him, though he’s just out of reach. Julian doesn’t move.

“Come on, Ju. Come on, Julian, I said I was sorry. It’ll be fine.”

“What, exactly, will be fine? Can you tell me that?”

“Are you asking me to dissect the frog?”

“I think it’s time the frog died.”

“Are you joking? Is this a joke?” Noel pushes up off the wall and takes a step toward Julian, but Julian, in turn, takes another step back. “Which frog are we even talking about?”

“Noel, this can’t – we can’t just… where’s your _girlfriend_ , Fielding? Do you care? I’m sure you do. I don’t understand how you couldn’t – I mean, you care for _paperclips_ – you’re so full of it. Fuck, Noel, I just can’t – I couldn’t bear the thought of facing Julia if she’d seen. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it. I don’t know what I’d do.”

“She’s a big girl. They’re both big girls.”

“Yeah, and you’re acting like a child.”

“You’re no better! You’re no fucking better, Julian, Julian _Barratt_ ; you’re no better than I am. You’re no more high or mighty.”

“I am if I walk away.”

“You can’t walk away. You can’t ever walk away from me.”

“I’ll see you in February, Noel.”

Julian walks back towards the door that will take him back inside, back to Julia, away from Noel. Noel stands, doubting his convictions. He watches as Julian opens the door and glances over at him to see if he’s following at all. Noel tilts his head to one side and holds a hand out toward him.

“Come back here. Come on.”

“Happy New Year.”

“Julian.”

The door closes behind Julian and he is gone. Up until the moment the door closes, Noel is sure that Julian will change his mind, will give in and come back and push him against the wall and melt against him and everything will stay as it is, everything will be fine.

But now, Noel feels the path crumbling under his feet and he falls to his knees, unable to stay standing with such unstable ground.

 

———————

 

Deep in sleep, Noel dances through the jungle.

The moon hides behind clouds and refuses to touch him. His feet are light but there is nothing, nothing for them to rest on that feels like home. Dead leaves soften the blow of the hard earth but he knows it is there – dirt, just dirt, ancient and forever shifting and never the same twice. All he wants is the same, solid and forever.

He trips and stumbles, twists and dances, looking and looking and looking. He thinks he hears a voice and digs his heels into the leaves, but it is only the owls, rustling in the trees and looking for a meal of mice. Noel skips away faster, scratching at his skin, certain that he is covered in filthy grey fur.

 _Lost._ The breeze carries the word to him and it caresses him, smooth and sly, as it races him through the undergrowth. His heart beats like a drum, a crescendo building, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. He folds under a branch and bursts into a clearing, fingers clenched tightly into fists. Badumbadumbadum.

Every twist and turn of this jungle is drawn on his skin – every leaf, each creature and vine. He has created this for himself but he is struggling, blind. The moon will not listen to him and the animals will not tell him where to go. All he can listen to is the beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Lost.

 

———————

 

Dee walks in on Noel in the shower in the late afternoon of January the first. He is sitting on the shower floor, legs crossed and shoulders slumped. His jaw hangs open and every few seconds he takes a big, gasping breath, his shoulders rising with the breath and then slumping again. When Dee enters the room, she locks eyes with him for a long moment before pulling the door closed behind her and crouching down next to the shower.

“Not again, Noel.”

“Why can’t I breathe underwater?”

“Humans breathe air, darling.”

“I just want to breathe. Can’t I have gills?”

“Give genetic science a few more years. Come on, you. Hop out.”

“I’m sorry, Delia.”

“No, I think it’s my fault. It was my fault this time, wasn’t it?”

Noel doesn’t answer, because it is wrong to make her hurt. He sits in silence, rocking slightly. Dee finds a towel hanging behind the door and holds it out, but Noel doesn’t make any move to get up, so she sits back down on the ground next to the shower and folds the towel in her lap. They sit in silence for ages, with only the steady drumming of the drops of water against the tub to keep the conversation going. Eventually, Dee breaks the silence yet again, her voice soft and unobtrusive.

“You didn’t tell me things were back on, pet. I wasn’t ready for it. I wouldn’t have pushed him to do it, if I’d – bloody fuck, I just wish you’d talk to me, Noel.”

“Now?”

“Always; you know that. You don’t tell me anything. You always say you’ll tell me and then you never do, and suddenly I’m picking you up off the floor again with no warning. If you don’t tell me anything, how am I to know? I can’t just guess.”

“Would you like me to leave you notes? Maybe we can have a sign that I can flip around. One side will say JULIAN: ON, and the other side will say JULIAN: OFF.”

“Don’t you turn into a little shitbox; I’m being completely good to you. I was going to make you some soup, and all.”

“I’d like some soup.”

Dee gets to her feet and unfolds the towel again, shaking it out and holding it up, waiting patiently for Noel to get up and let her look after him. He eventually does, stepping forward and letting Dee tuck the towel around him, letting her keep her arms around him and hold him. She’s right – she is being completely good to him. She always has been and he has never deserved it.

“Come on, my little prince,” she says, moving around behind him and resting her hands against his back, pushing him gently out into the hallway. “I’ll make some soup and you can tell me all about this time, and all about how it fell apart again, and then I’ll tell you how long it will be until he can’t live without you again.”

Because this is how it works, Noel thinks as he crawls into bed, still dripping with water. His wet hair soaks into his pillow as he curls up on his side, listening to Dee bustling about in the kitchen. This is how it has always worked, since the dawn of time.

She will take him out for days on end, let him get drunk and fucked up, go along for the ride with him. She will dance with him and sleep with him and always love him best, and he will love her as best he can. He will love her best until Julian is ready to let him in again. He will reassemble stone by stone the only path that matters to him, the only path that has ever mattered to him, because he is stubborn and selfish and this is only another in between time.

 

———————


End file.
